All Things Lost
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, AU/ZA. When everything was lost, they had to hold onto what they had, even if the only thing they all held onto was the thin thread of hope that was keeping them all tethered to the Earth that was determined, it seemed, to give up on herself. Caryl. Begins in Season 2. Ed lives past Season 1.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This was brought about by an anonymous request on Tumblr that I consider doing something where Ed doesn't die at the rock quarry and we see how things develop with Caryl while Ed is still alive and well. I thought it was an interesting idea to play around with, so here we are. According to the plans that I have for the story, this one will be somewhere in the neighborhood of 45 chapters and will be a slow-burn Caryl story.**

 **This story comes with some warnings. Because I'm going somewhere that the show didn't go, I won't be following the events on the show exactly. As well, you can expect that the characters might be a little "OOC" from time to time because this is something that we haven't seen develop on the screen.**

 **Also, there will be trigger warnings here for violence and domestic violence—both actual and alluded to—since Ed is alive. There will be the scenario of Carol/other person because she's married to Ed. I don't intend to be terribly graphic with either of these points, but you should be aware of their presence. They should be expected.**

 **If you choose to read, however, in spite of all those things, I hope that you enjoy the story.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope that you enjoy the first chapter as we get started here. Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl wondered how many miles they'd have to drive before the big black cloud of smoke, billowing up like it came from the pits of Hell, would no longer be visible in his rearview mirror.

The CDC was burning—one of the final places they'd expected to find life and proof that the world was still going on, somewhere, like it had once been going on. It was burning. More than that, it was _gone_. Like so many other things, it simply ceased to be. It was just gone. What was burning now was the leftover debris that the explosion had left behind and the whole surrounding area that was swallowed up in the wave of fire. The CDC, itself, was simply gone.

Jenner was gone. Jacqui was gone.

Now they were just names to add to the running checklist of people they'd lost. It was a list that grew a little every day. Today it grew by two. Tomorrow it might grow by four or six. The truth of the matter was, Daryl was sure that it would keep growing until there simply weren't any more names to add to it or anybody left to remember the names that were already there.

It made Daryl sick to his stomach. He didn't want the list to keep growing.

He'd always hated losing things.

Even though his old man wasn't worth the six foot plot they threw him in, and even though Daryl had wished him dead a million times, he'd hated losing him. He'd taken with him the last hope that Daryl had of having a normal childhood. He'd taken with him the last hope that he might, somehow, magically turn things around and become the kind of old man that tossed a ball in the yard with his sons and didn't get piss drunk after a day of working the newest job he was simply waiting to get laid off from.

Daryl had hated losing his mother. She'd taken with him the last bit of softness and kindness that he'd known in the world. She'd taken with her the only pair of hands that had ever touched Daryl in true tenderness—filled with a kind of love that he couldn't find anywhere else. She'd left Daryl feeling a kind of vulnerability that nobody knew until their mother was just _gone_.

Daryl had hated losing the house when he and his brother didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of keeping it. He'd hated moving into the piece of shit that Merle had found them—thanks to a buddy who took pity on the fact that Merle was barely old enough to be his own guardian and was pretending he could be Daryl's. And, even though he'd hated living there, Daryl had hated leaving behind that piece of shit when they'd struck out to try to save themselves in a world they understood even less than they'd understood it before.

It wasn't much, but it was the only damn home they had.

Daryl had hated losing his brother every single time he'd lost him—and those times were numerous—because he'd landed himself in juvie again or he'd run off in search of something better where he promised Daryl would join him if he ever found it. Merle was an asshole and he was a son of a bitch, but he was all that Daryl had left in the world.

And Daryl had really hated losing him when he was the last thing that Daryl had left and Rick had handcuffed him to a roof like a dog to leave him there for dead. He'd hated knowing that he'd never know, not for sure, if his brother was out there somewhere or if he'd succumbed to his self-inflicted wound and died somewhere in Atlanta.

They'd lost enough people out of their group that Daryl couldn't even remember everyone. They'd lost their camp at the rock quarry where they were sure they'd be safe.

And now? They'd lost the CDC—a place that seemed, for just a moment, to be the answer to whatever prayers they were still bothering to offer up into the universe.

They'd lost nearly everything, and yet they held on to some of the damnedest things.

Despite his dislike of losing people, there were people in their group that Daryl wouldn't mind seeing lost. But, like cockroaches, it seemed that those were the hardest assholes to get rid of.

And it seemed that cockroaches had the best luck. It would appear that human cockroaches, by merit of being human beings that actually deserved not a single damn thing in the world, were the people who lost the least. They were the people who held onto everything good in their lives. Everything they never deserved to have in the first damn place.

Daryl reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. There'd been several cartons at the CDC, but he'd only had the one pack on him when he'd left. One cigarette was missing out the pack, and he took the second out now. He lit it, his hands shaking a little from the nerves that had been stirred up by facing death, and he took a draw off it.

In his rearview mirror, he could still see the smoke billowing up from the CDC's explosion and the burning that it caused in the surrounding area. He could still smell it. Not even the smell of rotting flesh which seemed to permeate everything could cover it over. The smell of the cigarette smoke that was so close to his face that it burned his eyes couldn't cover over the smell of the explosion.

In his rearview he could also see the bike in the back of his truck—the last thing he had of his brother. It was fitting, Daryl decided, that the bike was in his rearview along with the smoke. It marked everything he'd had to leave behind. It stood for everything that had been lost.

In front of him, like some circus caravan, stretched the vehicles that made up what he could only see fit to call his "new family". Like a family, there were some in the caravan he liked more than others. There were some he could barely even stand to be around. But they were together and, as far as they knew, they were the last remaining living humans on the face of the Earth.

And they would all be lost if they didn't find something or somewhere where they could get a decent enough toe hold to use to crawl out of the hole they were in and survive.

A few days in the CDC, at least, had given them a chance to rest. It had given them a chance to think that there might be a future for all of them. It had given them some food and drink to build their strength up a little, and it had provided medicine for anyone who needed it—though there was really only one of them that had demanded such care.

He was driving the Cherokee right in front of Daryl. The fat asshole had been well enough to run from the building before the blast and save his sorry ass skin—not caring enough to really make sure his wife and kid made it out. He'd left his wife to usher their daughter forward and had only seemed concerned about her whereabouts when he'd reached the car and feared that she might get into a vehicle with someone else who would treat her decent for however long they drove. The asshole was well enough to drive his car away from the fire that might have swallowed them all up, but he hadn't been "able" to do a single damn thing since Shane had kicked his ass at the rock quarry. He'd been milking the injuries he'd earned for everything they were worth since he'd gained them.

And before that? Before that, Merle and Daryl had figured the fucker's hands were put on backwards—good for nothing more than beating the wife he had that doted on him and served him like he was a king and for threatening the kid that looked at him like he was a bomb always set to explode.

He must be doing something right, though, because he'd managed to get everything he had and he'd managed to hold onto it while everyone else around him was losing left and right.

Ahead of Ed Peletier and his wagon of horrors was the RV where the old man sat with Andrea among the company of those that had piled into the vehicle. Daryl could only imagine the conversation that was taking place in there—if anyone was actually daring to say a single damn thing—because Andrea had been willing to give up her life, and the old man had been willing to go with her, because she'd lost every damn thing and figured that a life, once everything else was gone, really wasn't worth holding onto any longer.

She'd lost something that, maybe, Daryl hadn't lost just yet. She'd lost the hope that it could get better. That was all that had dragged Daryl's ass up and out of bed for most of his life, and he could imagine it was what was keeping at least some of them going, so he figured that losing it might really be the very end of hanging on.

But he was glad he wasn't in her presence right now because he didn't know what he'd say to her, but he knew he'd feel driven to say something.

Just ahead of the RV was the Jeep. In the Jeep, Shane drove alone.

Shane had lost it all, just like most of them, but he'd done it in a different way. He could pretend that nobody knew what happened—that they were all blind, deaf, and stupid—but they all knew. He'd been one of the only ones of them that had gained something out of the world's plummet into shit. He'd gained a ready-made family—wife and kid—at the end of it all. But then he'd lost it when Rick had returned.

And now, stewing in his semi-loss, Shane had gained a chip on his shoulder that was the size of Texas.

Just ahead of that was Rick. He was the man that, supposedly, was going to lead them all to some sort of salvation. He was, perhaps, the only one of them that had done things entirely backwards. He'd lost, just like the rest of them, but his loss was temporary. Just like playing some country song backward on the radio, he'd gained back everything he'd lost. His friend—though he came with his Texas-sized supposedly-secret chip—his wife, his son, and his position of power over everyone who looked up to him as some kind of person who would look out for him like the good cop that he was, had all come back to him.

The good cop that had left Merle handcuffed to the roof like a dog.

Daryl had no doubt that Rick was probably a good man, but they were different. They'd come from different places. They'd experienced different things. They could work together, now that they belonged to this makeshift family that was the only thing that Daryl had left, but they would always be different.

Rick, too, would always know that Daryl was different.

His experiences with the law, after all, had always been different than Rick's or even Shane's.

Daryl would always be somewhat on the outside.

He would always be a little different than everyone else—a forced loner—who'd started this whole thing with very little left to lose and had still managed to lose it all.

The only thing he had left, in fact, was the hope that it actually could get better and the determination that—if it were up to him—the losing would stop. If it were up to him? They'd somehow manage to get through this without losing another damn thing that they wanted and needed to hold onto.

Even if the only thing they all held onto was the thin thread of hope that was keeping them all tethered to the Earth that was determined, it seemed, to give up on herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. We've still got some work to do on setting things up here, but I really hope that you'll enjoy. Thank you all for the support on the first chapter. It's exciting to me to know that you're excited about the story.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

On highways where there was no traffic beyond the traffic they made themselves, it was easy to fall into a daze. It was easy for Daryl to get lost in his head—hashing and rehashing things that had happened and how they might have happened differently—and simply let the truck practically drive itself as he followed along behind the caravan. The cars in front of him let him know of any danger. They told him if he needed to move for something in the road or slow down for Walkers that they were attempting to avoid hitting for the damage they might do to their only current means of transportation.

There was very little need to pay close attention to their surroundings as they sailed down the highway in search of something that they couldn't really put their finger on. Rick could say that he had a plan, and he could say that they were headed to a fort for protection, but the truth of the matter was they didn't even know if the fort would be there.

And if it was there, how long could they really count on it to stand?

The CDC, after all, was gone. In his rearview mirror, Daryl couldn't even see the smoke anymore. He thought he could see a cloud of darkness in the distance that, perhaps, marked the spot where the CDC had been, but it might have just been a dark cloud.

The whole world, it seemed, was really caught under a dark cloud.

His daydreaming meant that Daryl had very nearly missed the fact that the whole caravan was coming to a creeping halt. He snapped out of his daze just in time to realize that the brake lights on the Cherokee weren't just signaling slowing, they were signaling stopping. He quickly brought the truck to a stop and sat for a moment, watching everyone ahead of him, trying to figure out what it was that might be the problem.

Finally, after sitting for a moment, Daryl unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the truck door, and slid out. Daryl took another cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it. He walked past the Cherokee and glanced back in the window as he passed it. Ed was making no move to get his ass out of the vehicle. Daryl didn't expect Carol and Sophia, Ed's wife and daughter, to get out—not until the danger had been assessed—but he figured Ed ought to pull his own weight.

Even the thought of it, though, made Daryl laugh to himself because it was so ridiculous. The fat asshole hadn't pulled his weight yet, there was no reason to believe he was going to start now.

A little beyond the Cherokee was the RV. Everyone else in the group was beginning to gather out in front of it. The RV was producing a good bit of steam. The damn thing had broken down again. They needed it, since it sometimes offered the only shelter they had, but it was almost not worth the trouble it caused.

"This why we stopped?" Daryl called, approaching. He knew the answer to his own question, but he wanted to be sure that the RV was the only problem they were facing.

"Radiator hose again," Dale, the old man who owned the RV, responded.

"Can you fix it?" Daryl asked. He'd tinkered with cars a little, but he wasn't too much of a mechanic. He tended to be better with bikes than he was with anything else, but it was really Merle who was the best when it came to that all things with motors.

"Yeah," Dale said. "If I can find the parts."

Daryl looked around them. They were on a highway. Every highway looked the same these days. They were littered with cars that had been abandoned, cars that had been wrecked, and vehicles of all shapes and sizes that had become graves. In some of the cars the bodies remained, in others they'd simply disappeared.

"If you can't find it out here," Daryl said, but he didn't bother finishing. Everyone else was already looking around them as well.

When Daryl turned back to look at the group, he could see that the Peletier family had decided to join them. Ed walked up to the group on one side of the road while Carol and Sophia eased down the other, Carol's arms tight around her daughter's shoulders as she held her against her body.

"What's the hold up?" Ed asked. "We can't just sit out on the highway all night."

"Radiator," Dale said again. "I've got to find a hose. See if I can get it running."

"What the hell are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Ed asked, directing his question toward Rick. "We don't have food and we don't have water. Now we're just supposed to sit out here and bake until the damn thing's running again?"

Rick and Shane both stared at Ed. Daryl had to look away from him. He found that looking at Ed Peletier was like looking at the sun. It wasn't good for his eyes. It also wasn't too good for his blood pressure. But they all knew, too, that they had to tread carefully. Everything they might want to do or say to Ed would come back, but it wouldn't come back on them. Men like Ed were too damn chicken shit to fight with somebody their own size—someone who might very well roll their ass in the dirt for a bit. Instead, he'd take everything out on Carol, and the poor woman wasn't even comparable in size to the asshole husband that she'd gained herself out of what had to be sheer stupidity since Daryl couldn't imagine a woman like her reaching a point of such extreme desperation.

Shane laughed to himself.

"I don't know, Ed," he said, looking around. "There's a lot out here. Cars as far as we can see. Maybe—while Dale's working on the motor, we should just split up and look for all those things we're missing."

Rick gave Shane a warning look over being a bit too smart assed toward Ed. He cut his eyes quickly at Carol, and Daryl knew what he was doing—he was searching her face to see if she was already preparing for what might be to come. She looked afraid and concerned, but that was a common feeling for all of them right now.

"Shane's right," Rick said. "We ought to—we ought to search some of these cars. Look for water, food, medicine, clothes...anything we can use. We'll start gathering it together. There's no use wasting time."

"As much stuff as there is out here," Glenn said "this is a blessing for us." He was their resident "scavenger," so the sight of so much possibility would likely mean a great deal to him. He was more accustomed than any of them, really, at seeing potential in the least appealing of places.

"It's a graveyard," Andrea commented. She turned and, instead of moving to help search for goods, she mounted the steps into the RV again. Daryl watched her as she disappeared from sight. She'd just tried to kill herself and, though her escape from the CDC proved that she'd made a choice to live, she probably wasn't quite ready to face the reality of death surrounding her from every direction on the highway.

"What do we do about her?" Daryl heard Lori ask Rick quietly.

"Leave her alone," Daryl said. "If she don't wanna be out here, we don't want her out here."

Rick looked at him and Daryl shrugged his shoulders at the man. He didn't know what Rick wanted from him, exactly, but he meant what he said. If Andrea was still wrapped up in all that she was dealing with then having her out on the highway wasn't a good idea. She'd be distracted and, these days, distraction got people killed pretty quickly.

"OK," Rick said. "Everyone split up, but don't go too far. Dale—do you need help with the radiator?"

Dale reached a hand out and patted Glenn on the shoulder. Glenn looked at him, a mix of panic and acceptance washing over his features, and nodded his head.

"I'll help him," Glenn said.

"We'll find a hose," Dale said. "Work on getting everything in working order again."

Rick nodded his acceptance of the plan and glanced back over the rest of them as they stood there.

"Everyone split up then. Gather together whatever you can find. Pack the trunks. Pack the RV. But don't go too far," Rick said. He glanced down the highway in both directions. The land was fairly flat, especially given the somewhat rolling hills that were prevalent in the Georgia landscape, and the amount of distance they could see clearly was pretty good. "We'll say that blue van down there is as far as you should go in that direction. No farther than the second semi in that direction. Stay close enough to get each other's attention. We don't want anyone getting lost. Everyone—keep your eyes open for Walkers."

"We're stronger in numbers," Shane seconded. "Don't go too far. We don't want anyone getting isolated."

"You can stand out here and pick through cars if you want to," Ed said. "But I'm not doing it."

"We need everyone working together, Ed," Shane said. "We cover more ground that way. Build more supplies—things that you're worried about us not having enough of."

Ed sucked his teeth.

"My head ain't been quite right," Ed said. Daryl gritted his own teeth against the man's words. He was milking his injuries at every turn. There was still physical evidence of his run in with Shane on his features—a beat down that he'd deserved in Daryl's opinion for deciding that he could publicly attack Carol and even extend his abuse to Andrea—but the injuries weren't as crippling as he liked to pretend they were. They hadn't even slowed down his mistreatment of his wife all that much, even though her bruises weren't quite as dramatic as they'd once been.

Still, letting Ed off the hook for dealing with the scavenging meant they'd all get a vacation from his mouth and from his ugly ass mug.

Daryl watched Rick and Shane to see what they might do. They were watching Carol to see if the woman might _tell_ them what to do.

"I'll help scavenge," Carol said. "Sophia can help me gather some clothes. Maybe we'll find some food? We'll—get together what we can."

Rick nodded his head.

"Ed—why don't you go sit in the car? Keep an eye out for Walkers? Let us know if you see something?" Rick asked.

Ed reached a hand out for Sophia and Daryl saw Carol pull her back. He looked at Ed, wondering if they were about to have to do something. He knew that they had to tread easy—they couldn't exactly lock him up, killing him would open a whole new can of worms among all of them, and their reactions could make things worse for the woman and the child—but he also figured that they weren't going to let him _publicly_ beat her. Not again. Not anymore. What happened "behind closed doors," so to speak, wasn't something they could necessarily control, but Daryl, at least, couldn't simply stand there and see it happen right before his eyes.

"Sophia can stay with me," Ed said.

"Let her get some fresh air, Ed," Carol said, clinging to her daughter. "Stretch her legs? We've been in the car for a while."

"Let her play with Carl," Lori interrupted. "We'll keep them close. It's good for them to be out for a bit. As soon as the RV is fixed, we'll all be in the cars again for a while."

Ed looked like he might respond or react in some way, but he glanced at everyone around him and then he sucked his teeth. He mumbled something as he turned and walked back toward the Cherokee, but Daryl couldn't make it out and didn't try too much.

As soon as Ed was gone, everyone started to split up and walk toward the cars surrounding them. Taking that as his cue, Daryl walked past everyone and headed in the direction of a small pile up several feet down the road. If he was going to pick cars clean, he intended to do it on his own.

They might all be in this together, but that didn't mean that Daryl didn't feel like he still needed a little space every now and again.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **This is what I'm thinking of as the last "set-up" chapter. It gets us in the location where the "action" will start and lets everyone know what Daryl's current headspace is. From here out, we'll really be getting into the meat of the story. I'm following some things from the show, but I'm also taking a great deal of liberty with the events that take place.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

The first thing that caught Daryl's attention, and consequently the first thing he grabbed for himself in their searching was a large camping knapsack from the back of a truck. He opened it and shook its contents into the bed of the truck. He rummaged through them and decided that there was very little of interest there. The bag was a camping bag, but it hadn't been packed as such. It was packed just the same as if the original owner had been cramming belongings into a black hefty bag for a fast move—which was likely the case.

Still, the bag would do just fine for holding the items that Daryl intended to keep out of his rummaging through vehicles.

While Daryl saw the merit in sticking together—there was strength in numbers, after all, and some people needed a little extra protection because they were simply adapting slower to their surroundings—he didn't think that he had to remain too close to the group. He and Merle had handled themselves pretty well. They hadn't joined up with the group because they absolutely couldn't imagine making it on their own. Not in the beginning.

In the beginning, their reasons for staying with the group had been entirely different. They were, as well, a little less than noble.

Now Daryl stayed with the group for a different reason entirely. He stayed with the group because he didn't care for being alone. He liked some solitude, and he liked time to himself. He certainly didn't want someone stuck up his ass during every hour of the day, but he didn't like being entirely alone. When it had been just Merle and him, he was fine. Now that Merle was gone, the group kept Daryl from having to face absolute solitude—at least as long as they were all alive.

But that didn't mean that he wanted to be stuck up under them all. Not all the time.

Sometimes he liked a little distance between himself and their bullshit. Otherwise, he wasn't sure that he wouldn't ever just lose his resolve and tell them what he thought of them. Even if he liked them, after all, he had some things that he could point out to most of them as rather annoying.

If he were telling them all what he thought, he'd tell Rick to get his head out of his ass and deal with the problem with his best friend head on, before he realized that they weren't as close as Rick thought they were. Pussy, Merle had taught Daryl well, had a way of getting between just about any pair of friends if the friends in question had an interest in the same piece. The only way to deal with that kind of thing was simply to deal with it. Rick and Shane were tap dancing around it—all the while leaving Lori to pretend that not a damn thing was going on and to pretend that she could sneak around whispering in both of their ears without anyone else noticing—and eventually that shit was going to explode. It had to. That much pressure couldn't be contained forever.

If he were telling people what he thought, he'd tell Lori that she was stirring shit up too. It was a have cake or eat it scenario. She could have Rick. She could have Shane. She couldn't have Rick _and_ Shane unless they were about to launch into some kind of end-of-the-world polygamy practice. The running back and forth between the two was going to cause something to explode and, when it did, she was only going to have herself to blame for the mess it made and the shit it rained down over everyone in the surrounding area.

And Daryl would tell her to keep an eye on her kid. Her kid was as slippery as they came. The little asshole was always running off at the rock quarry. Ten times a day she would show up from whatever she was doing—usually having disappeared for a good half hour into the woods and come back, disheveled, a few minutes before Shane showed up from some mystery task—and ask where her kid was. Daryl would tell her, if he were handing out opinions, that Carol had enough on her plate. She didn't need to constantly be watching Lori's kid while she juggled her own kid and husband and all the tasks that Lori and Andrea seemed to find unsavory.

No, Daryl wasn't telling them all what he thought, but if he were, he'd tell Shane to cut Lori loose. He didn't see the appeal in the woman that held Rick and Shane both captive, but he could guarantee to Shane that she wasn't the last piece on Earth. From where Daryl was standing he could see the RV where Andrea was coming to terms with the fact that she was still alive. She was complicated, and maybe not a hundred percent desirable, but going ahead and settling with her would at least save Shane from dealing with the back and forth bullshit that Daryl knew had been going on since Rick had returned. After all, Daryl couldn't be the only one that saw her trotting back and forth between them even in the CDC. If she kept it up, anyone watching her was going to end up with a wicked case of whiplash.

Even now she was creeping closer to Shane on the road, determined to cut him loose but refusing to take the hook out of his mouth.

Andrea would simply be easier and, though Daryl didn't promote acting like his big brother, he knew that Merle would say she was just about right for the picking. She'd been through a lot of shit. She'd be receptive to any attention and affection that Shane wanted to offer her.

That is, if Dale didn't get there first.

Daryl wasn't sure if Dale was just a busy body and had latched onto Andrea and her younger sister because he didn't want to be alone, but the man had hovered over them. Since Amy's death, he'd continued to hover over Andrea like she belonged to him. He had opinions about nearly everyone that he didn't mind sharing, and sometimes it was clear that they weren't appreciated. He'd had more than one opinion to share with Merle and Daryl both. He didn't particularly bother Daryl, but Daryl understood that the old man's ways could get on the nerves of others—and sometimes they could end up causing more harm than good. But it wasn't Daryl's place to tell him that he needed to close his mouth.

He was welcome, as far as Daryl was concerned, to hover over Andrea until the woman tired of it. For now, she didn't seem to mind the old man's attention too much. It could be argued, maybe, that she'd even chosen to live just for him. Maybe the idea of dying still appealed to her, but she just couldn't let Dale get blown up at the CDC where she'd nearly died and taken him with her. She didn't want to choose for him how he should die, so she'd chosen, perhaps, to bide her time and choose another way out for herself.

If Daryl were telling Andrea what he thought, he'd probably tell her that she needed to get her shit together. The life that she had now might not be quite the life she'd been accustomed to before the world went to shit, but that was true for all of them. She'd lost everyone she had outside of this group, but that was true for most of them. She needed to pull herself together and keep going. If she'd just believe it, there was a pretty good chance she was going to make it out of this—if any of them actually were—and she'd find something that was worth living for, even if it wasn't what she'd lived for before.

At least, that was the belief that Daryl held onto to keep him dragging his feet through everything. It was the belief that had carried him through most of his life, really—he'd get through it and, eventually, he might even find something that simply made it all worth doing.

He'd tell Andrea that she might even find that the world ended up needing someone like her, but they'd never know if she did something stupid like dragged her ass off into the woods somewhere to simply opt out of going forward.

Andrea needed to realize that her life now, even if it wasn't the dream she wanted it to be, was still a good deal better than the shit that some of them were dealing with.

At least she wasn't married to an asshole like Ed Peletier.

Ed Peletier got under Daryl's skin in a special way. The man irritated nearly everyone in the group, and that was no real secret to anyone, but he was especially bothersome to Daryl because Daryl knew Ed, or, at the very least, Daryl knew people like Ed. Daryl knew people like Ed intimately—a little too much so for his tastes. Daryl understood what it was like to be under the thumb of someone like Ed. He knew what it was like to hate them—to absolutely dream of killing them—and to feel like there was no escape because, at the same time, it was impossible to imagine a life without them. He knew that they cultivated the belief that the world, without them, was simply too hard to manage.

But Daryl also knew that, once his own "Ed" had ceased to walk the Earth, he'd found that it was all a lie. He could survive without his old man and, not only that, he could do it a hell of a lot better than he'd done it with the asshole kicking him every time he tripped.

If Daryl was going to tell Carol anything, it would be that everything Ed had told her, more than likely, was a lie. She and her kid would be fine without him. Better than fine, they'd probably be better off.

They didn't have to be alone. They didn't have to do it all alone. That's what they had the group for—flaws and all—and they might find that even the collective issues of the group were easier to handle than the shitty disposition of the man who lorded over them right now.

But Carol couldn't exactly run away from Ed, and she couldn't exactly expect him to be locked up, so she was stuck with him. Even if she wanted to be out from under his thumb, there wasn't really a way to accomplish that. Not so long as the man was breathing and Rick was holding them all to his strong moral set of beliefs that they didn't kill the living—they didn't kill each other. The belief, of course, was to keep them all from descending into anarchy and chaos, but Daryl felt there ought to be exceptions.

Of course, the exception made for Ed might lead to other exceptions.

So if Daryl were free to tell Ed Peletier anything at all? He might tell the asshole to simply stop being an asshole. But since he knew, from experience, that such things weren't really possible for men who suffered from such a severe case of asshole syndrome, he might tell Ed Peletier to go to hell.

And then he might help him get there.

But Daryl was doing his best to keep the peace and he was doing his best to simply stay out of everyone's way. The only way he knew to accomplish that was to avoid telling everyone what he might think of telling them.

For that reason, Daryl kept his distance, whenever possible, to put a little space between himself and everyone else's bullshit.

Daryl searched cars, trucks, and vans right along with everyone else, but he didn't exactly fall into the buddy system. From where he was working, he could see everyone, but he wasn't on top of anyone and they weren't on top of him. He collected food, cigarettes, and a few assorted weapons that he dropped in the camping bag that he'd acquired. He drank down the contents of a few bottles of water he'd found and put some bottles of Gatorade and beer—all unopened—on the ground so that they could load them later with the other supplies.

Daryl worked every bit as hard as anyone else clearing out vehicles, but he did it without a partner. He worked in silence, stealing glances at his surroundings every few minutes to make sure that all was clear on the highway.

Because of that, Daryl was one of the first to see that all _wasn't_ clear and there were more than just a few Walkers headed straight for them. The only sound of warning he dared to make for everyone in the group that was several feet away from him was one quick and sharp whistle. Catching T-Dog's attention, and then Rick's, Daryl waved a hand in the direction of the Walkers to alert them to what he saw, and then he looked around to make a quick plan for himself as to how he intended to escape their grasp.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Ed warning for this chapter.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

 _The blink of an eye._

Carol had always heard people use that expression. That's how fast things could happen. It was how fast everything happened when people told back the stories of horrible events in their lives. One minute life was normal. The next it wasn't. It all simply happened in the blink of an eye.

What they never explained was that it felt far different than that.

Carol felt like she didn't close her eyes once the whole time that Lori held her, her hand clamped tight over Carol's mouth, under the car. She felt like she watched the whole scene unfold—fighting with herself because she didn't know what to do or how to do it and she felt like she couldn't stay still—for hours instead of seconds.

Carol felt like her heart thundered in her chest for hours and her lungs cried out to breathe for days as she watched Sophia run down the hill, Walkers chasing after her, into the woods where Carol couldn't see her any longer with Lori's arms grabbing at her shoulders and neck with the same ferocity of the Walker's claws as they searched them all out under the cars.

She felt like everyone and everything was moving in slow motion as Rick disappeared after Sophia and there was the long, quiet time where they waited for any sign of life from the woods.

But it all happened, Carol knew, in the blink of an eye.

In the blink of eye, she'd lost her daughter. She'd lost a piece of her heart and soul. She'd lost the only thing good that she had left.

It was the longest blink of an eye that Carol had ever suffered.

Whether he was asleep or dead or simply disinterested, Ed stayed stuck in the car alone, presumably with the door locked. He didn't come out to see if everyone was OK. He didn't inquire about anyone's well-being and he didn't report on his own. He didn't move—and Carol was grateful.

She'd find no comfort from Ed. She'd find no support.

He'd tell her what she already knew. It was her fault. She'd failed her daughter. She was a horrible mother. Sophia was lost in the woods, Walkers chasing after her, and Carol hadn't done a thing about it. She hadn't even been allowed to scream to draw the creatures away from her child. She hadn't been able to bring herself to do what she should have done and crawl out from under the car to, at the very least, draw the creatures away from Sophia by offering herself in exchange.

Carol had failed her daughter and she didn't need to hear that from Ed to know it as truth.

She could barely even stand to hear Lori's repeated promises that it was all going to be fine and Rick was going to bring her daughter back safe and sound.

When Rick came back, empty handed, Carol almost hit her knees. Someone helped her to the guardrail and she clung to it, not sure she could remain upright without the support of the hot metal.

"Sophia?" Carol asked. It was the only word she'd been able to mutter. It was the only word she could clearly form. She felt like it was the only word left within her entire body.

"She's not back?" Rick asked.

Carol suddenly felt some other words bubbling up within her, though they were almost drowned out by the desperation that she felt.

"Why would she be back?" Carol asked, something rising up in her. "She was with you!"

"She wasn't where I left her," Rick said.

"You left her?!" Carol coughed out. "How could you leave her?!"

Her vision narrowed. Like a poorly developed picture, everything she saw went dark and fuzzy for a moment. She received, without knowing who it came from, some physical support from those surrounding her. She heard Rick, like she was underwater and trying to listen to his explanation through the liquid, tell her what had happened.

He'd left Sophia in a safe place. He'd told her to wait for him. He couldn't kill the Walkers. It was too dangerous. Killing them with his gun would have drawn more Walkers. He had to lure them away from her. He killed them. He left her somewhere safe. He told her to wait for him but she was gone when he returned.

 _He left her somewhere safe. He left her baby girl somewhere "safe" in the woods while dead things were wandering around with only the desire to rip her to shreds. Rick left her daughter somewhere safe in the woods. And now, not only could Carol not save her daughter, she couldn't even find her._

"You left my baby!" Carol spat at Rick. She felt like she was fighting herself. She felt like everything inside her was fighting. She felt like she was torn between wanting to simply give up—throw herself on the ground and die right there from the pain her chest—and like she wanted to launch herself at the man and fight him, bare-handed, until she took out every single wrongdoing that had ever happened to her on Rick. Hands that seemed to belong to everybody and nobody, all at once, held her back like they anticipated her desire to fight against Rick.

If God was willing to negotiate, Carol would have died at that moment, because she tried desperately to make a deal to trade her own life for her daughter's.

"She ain't gone far," Daryl said, appearing from somewhere behind Carol. "We'll just go look for her."

"Please," Carol said, the word coming out of her mouth seemingly without even checking with her brain first.

Daryl nodded his head at her as his only response.

"We'll go look for her," Shane echoed, appearing from somewhere else like an apparition.

Carol's heart was still pounding in her chest and in her ears, but with the confirmation that they were going looking for Sophia—that so many able and capable people were looking for her—her breathing started to come more easily. She calmed, a little, with the feeling that they would find her daughter.

They were capable and they were able. They knew what they were doing. They were made for this world. They'd find her daughter and they'd bring her back. And Carol, she promised herself, would never let go of her again—not even for a moment. Because, she knew even better now than she'd ever known it before, anything could happen in the blink of an eye.

"I left her at the creek," Rick said. "It's not far from here. But she could've gone anywhere in the woods."

"She'da left tracks, too," Daryl said. "No matter where she went. But the sooner we get down there, sooner we bring her back. Don't wanna lose the light and risk stirring up the tracks."

He jumped over the guardrail and Shane crawled over the part that was closest to him so that they were all standing near Rick.

"What about T-Dog?" Dale asked. "He's hurt bad. What are we supposed to do with him?"

"Bind his wounds tight," Daryl said, directing his words at Glenn. "If we get down there 'fore she goes too far, we won't be gone long. See what we can do when we all get back."

"Bind them with what?" Glenn asked.

"I'll help you find something," Lori said quickly. "We'll find something. Just—get Sophia. We'll take care of T."

"Where's Ed?" Rick asked.

Carol's heart leapt into her throat. She glanced behind her, half expecting her husband to be there, waiting to punish her for something that she truly felt she _deserved_ to be punished for. Ed wasn't behind her, though. A glance in the direction of the car told her that he was still there. He was still sitting behind the wheel of the car. He was smoking a cigarette. He was watching them. But he didn't feel moved to get out and come and see what was happening.

Everyone else must have quickly located him too.

"We should get him," Rick said. "He might want to go with us."

"Don't bother," Daryl said, starting already toward the woods. "He'll just slow us down, stir up the tracks, and we're already wastin' time that girl ain't got."

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Ed was aware that they were being watched. He kept watching those that were watching them through the windshield. Outside, Dale walked around like he was keeping a look out for Walkers, his rifle in his hand, but Carol was certain that he wasn't there for the Walkers.

Ed would've wanted privacy—he always wanted privacy because he didn't like people sticking their nose into his business, he said—but there wasn't privacy to be had. Not here. Not on the highway. They were in the car having a conversation and it was no more private than being in a fishbowl.

Carol was grateful for the lack of privacy. Though she felt she deserved whatever Ed might say to her, or even do to her, for losing their daughter, she still _feared_ what he might do.

"They're going to look for her, Ed," Carol said. "They're going to find her. Bring her back."

Ed watched Dale move around outside of the car. He didn't even look at Carol at the moment. He didn't seem as angry as Carol expected him to be—not at all. He seemed calm, and that was almost more terrifying than seeing the man furious.

"Bring her back as one of them things?" Ed asked.

Carol's blood ran cold in her veins.

"No," she said. "She's fine, Ed," Carol said. "She—was safe. Rick left her somewhere safe. They're bringing her back. She probably just left where he told her to stay because she was scared. Once it was clear..."

Carol was creating the story for herself and she knew it. She knew that everything she was saying was really nothing more than fiction. She was creating the story, perhaps, just to make herself feel better. She needed it, right now, if she was going to hold herself together until they got back. And she couldn't fall apart. Sophia was going to need her not to fall apart.

Ed laughed to himself like this was any kind of laughing matter. He lit another cigarette from the stash of several cartons that he kept in the back of the car. He was reluctant to share any of their supplies with the group—and his cigarettes were just one of the things that he'd kept hidden.

"Her fuckin' problem is that she's too damn much like you," Ed said. "Fuckin' woman from the time she was born. She's never listened. You did that to her. Babied her too damn much. Didn't let me teach her how to act. How to listen. Just like you—spoiled. Doesn't listen to a damn thing people say. Never learns. She run off. That's on you. Can't do shit right."

"She ran off because they were chasing her," Carol said, choking on her own words.

"And what the hell did you do about that?" Ed asked.

Carol couldn't respond because there was nothing to say. She didn't do anything about it. Ed was right about that. She let her little girl get chased away by those creatures and she did nothing to save her. She wasn't going to defend herself.

Maybe it would even be best if Dale were to drop his guard, outside the car, and allow Ed to do what he wanted to her.

"She run off from where Rick told her to stay because she minds as good as you do," Ed said. "Spent too many years trying to make you learn—but you don't. Too damn stupid to learn anything. Knew she weren't gonna learn from the day she was born. That's your fault. It's on you."

Carol simply sat there, staring at him, waiting for him to say all that he had to say. He flicked ashes out the cracked car window and watched Dale march back and forth in front of the car like it was the best lookout spot they had for Walkers.

Ed didn't seem angry. He didn't seem angry at all. Not like Carol expected. Ed had seemed far angrier when he'd learned that Carol had told the group about their supplies—about how much he'd stored up because he was always sure that something was going to happen like this, even if he hadn't predicted exactly what was happening now. He'd been furious that she told them what they had.

Ed Peletier had been ready to kill Carol over costing him some ready-made meals, but he didn't seem half as concerned about the loss of their only child—or at least the only one that had ever made it to be born.

The realization settled heavy in Carol's stomach in just the same way as she imagined it might feel to swallow down a large handful of hot, lead pellets.

"They'll bring her back..." Carol said softly, more to herself than to Ed.

"She's too damn dumb to still be alive," Ed mused. "Like you. Can't survive an hour without someone telling her how the hell to live. You'd forget to breathe if it weren't for me. Probably the best damn thing that could happen...she weren't gonna make it no damn way. Not with your stupid ass for a mother."

Carol swallowed and accepted Ed's words because she had nothing else that she could do with them. She tried to digest the fact that her husband didn't care. He simply didn't care. Their daughter was gone—and people she barely knew were out there looking for her while her father sat in a car and chain smoked cigarettes—and Ed didn't seem to really care at all.

It was no great loss to Ed.

Carol opened the car door to let herself out and Ed touched her for the first time. In a time when she imagined most women would expect comfort and love from their husbands, Carol didn't feel any support in the tight grasp that Ed had on her arm. He twisted the skin there, threatening her in a way that wouldn't be visible to Dale who was still marching, like a wind-up soldier, just outside the car with his rifle.

"Where the hell do you think you're goin'?" Ed asked.

"T-Dog's hurt," Carol said. "They may need some help. I might be the only one around here who..."

"Yeah?" Ed asked, interrupting her words by twisting her arm harder so that Carol had to bite down against the feeling. "The only one who what?"

Carol swallowed when Ed loosened his grip a little.

"The only one who knows a thing at all about binding wounds, Ed," Carol said. She opened the door the rest of the way. The action alerted Dale and he stopped marching. Instead, he came toward Carol's side of the car, looking to make sure that everything was fine. Ed gave Carol's arm one last squeeze and he let her go.

"Get the hell outta here, then. Go on. Get out. Don't want you around me no damn way," Ed said. "You just leave me the hell alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

When they lost the light, they lost any chance of following tracks. Wandering around in the dark, too close to where Daryl knew he could still find Sophia's tracks, only made the risk higher that they would trample something he needed and make it more difficult to follow her and, consequently, to find her. They'd walked a little off from where she'd been left, mostly trying to predict where she might have gone, but getting into the mind of a young, frightened girl wasn't exactly something that any of them was really any good at doing.

Daryl led Rick and Shane away from the tracks he hoped to preserve and back toward the highway. As they emerged from the road, and the cars became visible, he could see that Carol was still standing next to the guardrail, her hands over her mouth, watching for them. He wondered if she'd stepped away from her spot at all. He wondered if she'd drank anything, ate anything, or rested at all. He wondered if anyone had shown her any concern or tried to help calm her at all in their absence.

Her tension was immediately visible when she realized they were coming back without Sophia and Daryl's stomach twisted a little at the thought of admitting to her that they hadn't found the girl.

He'd seen a lot of shit parents—the kind like Sophia's father who didn't care if their kid lived or died—but Carol wasn't a shit parent. It didn't seem fair, to Daryl, that a mother who gave a damn should be separated from her kid or, likewise, that a kid who had a mother like that should be separated from her mother.

If any member of the Peletier family should have wandered off into the woods, chased by Walkers, it should have been the fat asshole who still wasn't anywhere to be seen. Daryl doubted, though, that anyone would have gone after him. He doubted, too, that Carol would have been standing by the guardrail, worried about his return.

"Sophia?" Carol cried out as soon as she accepted that she wasn't with them.

"We didn't find her," Rick said. "We looked back at the creek and we searched the surrounding area, but we didn't find her."

Carol looked like she might throw up or pass out. Daryl eyed Rick from where he'd stopped his steps. To be a police officer—someone supposedly trained to handle delicate situations—the man wasn't too damn good at delivering bad news.

Of course, from what Daryl knew about cops, none of them were really too good at doing anything beyond being pompous assess.

Daryl stepped forward, hoping to try his hand at easing Carol's concerns as much as possible. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't going to believe that everything was wonderful and great, because it wasn't. At the end of it all, her kid was still out there in the woods alone. At the very least, though, Daryl hoped he could calm some of her worries.

"We didn't find her," Daryl said. "But we didn't find her dead neither." He shook his head at Carol. "No signs of struggle. No blood. Nothin'. Means she's still out there. Just prob'ly gone somewhere and hid. Scared. Just gotta figure out where she's hiding."

"She's OK?" Carol said. Daryl really couldn't tell if her statement was a question or not. He wasn't sure that she knew, honestly.

"She's alive," Daryl said. "She ain't bleeding. She weren't fighting. That's as close to OK as I can promise you she is without seein' her."

Carol sucked in a breath and then nodded her head before she sucked in another. She was having a hard time breathing. She was having a hard time holding it together. Of course she was. Her fucking kid was missing and she was surrounded by dipshits who didn't seem to realize that was going to take a toll on her—and maybe they ought to be just a little delicate when they handled things.

Daryl crawled over the guardrail and stopped beside her.

"Can't look for her no more today. It's too dark," Daryl said. "I could look out here—walk up and down the highway—but I don't wanna get too close to where I know she's been. Don't wanna mess up nothin' that could tell me tomorrow where the hell she went."

"She can't spend the night alone," Carol said, shaking her head at Daryl. "Out there in the woods alone? She can't spend a night like that. She's never—she's never even spent the night away from..."

"She's prob'ly already holed up somewhere for the night," Daryl said, interrupting her. He didn't want to hear what he was sure he was going to hear—this was the first night that the woman had spent not knowing where her daughter was or how she was since she'd brought her into the world. This was how she learned to deal with separation. Daryl didn't want to hear it, even if he already felt it to be true. "It ain't gonna do no good to keep looking for what we ain't gonna find right now. We'll go back. First thing in the morning. Find her when the sun is up."

Daryl walked away, back toward the RV, because he didn't know what else to say to Carol. He knew that Rick's delivery of things wasn't the best way to do it, but that didn't mean that he really considered himself equipped to handle things that much better.

Daryl was no better, honestly, at getting into the mind of a scared woman than he was at getting into the mind of a scared young girl.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

As darkness closed around them, everyone started to find somewhere to sleep. The RV soon became crowded—over crowded, even. Every possible "bed" in the place was taken. Daryl gave up any comfortable spot that might have been available to someone who needed it more. He took, for himself, a spot on the floor. Near him, also on the floor, was Andrea. She wasn't sleeping. She sat, her knees up against her chest, with her back against the cabinets. He hadn't seen her sleep since they left the CDC. Maybe she was giving it up or, maybe, she was like Daryl and there was simply too much to contemplate.

Daryl lie on the floor for a while and tried to will himself to sleep, but when he realized that his efforts were futile, he abandoned them. He left the RV and stepped outside onto the asphalt beneath the vehicles tires. He lit a cigarette and looked around him.

The night was calm and still. The stars were shining brightly above the highway. It was hard to imagine, looking at the sky, that the chaos they were living in was even real.

"Can't sleep?" Dale asked. His voice broke through the almost perfect silence of the night.

Daryl looked around and finally found the old man standing up on top of the RV with his rifle in his hands.

"Too damn hot in there," Daryl said. "Too damn crowded."

"Yeah," Dale mused. He started down the back of the RV, coming around to join Daryl on the road. Daryl hadn't really been seeking company, but it seemed he was going to have it just the same. "That's why I'm keeping watch. Andrea asleep?"

"Hasn't closed her eyes since I been in there," Daryl said.

"I don't know what's going on with her," Dale mused.

"Same damn thing that's going on with everybody," Daryl said. "Wonderin' if she's gonna live or die. Wonderin' if it matters either way."

Dale laughed to himself.

"Oh, it matters," Dale said. "It has to. If it didn't, I don't think that any of us would be alive."

Daryl hummed at him and focused on his cigarette. The man's concern about the blonde was his own. Daryl didn't want to see the woman die, but he couldn't very well stop her from killing herself. If she had a mind to do it, she'd do it. That's just how it worked.

"Do you think it matters, Daryl?" Dale asked.

Daryl was surprised by the question. He mostly figured that nobody cared what he thought one way or the other.

"Would rather she didn't die," Daryl said. That was all he offered Dale on the subject.

"Me too," Dale said. "I'd rather nobody did."

"Can't say as I can go that far," Daryl responded.

Dale looked at him. The moon was bright enough in the sky that Daryl could make him out. He was simply staring at him like he might be able to read Daryl's mind despite the fact it would be too dark to even read anything clearly written. Whether or not he knew what Daryl was referring to, he hummed like he understood.

"Do you believe you'll find Sophia tomorrow?" Dale asked.

"Gotta," Daryl said. "She don't need to be out there too long."

"You think she's still out there?" Dale asked.

"You don't?" Daryl countered.

"I do," Dale said. "But I asked you what you thought."

Daryl considered it. Maybe part of him thought the girl could very well be dead—after all, there were people far more grown and able bodied than her that had died—but most of him really felt like he _needed_ her to be alive. Whether or not he could explain it, even to himself, it mattered to him a great deal that the girl was still alive. It mattered so much that he could practically see himself, in his mind's eye, reaching out for her when he found her alive, and promising her that he was taking her home, safely, to her mother.

"She's out there," Daryl said. "We'll find her when the sun's up."

"Good," Dale said. "It matters, I think, that you really believe it. It'll help you find her. It's when we start to give up on things that we really lose them."

"That why you're steady hounding Andrea?" Daryl asked.

"I won't give up on her," Dale said. "And—I won't let her be lost."

Daryl's stomach tightened and, for just a moment, he felt sorry for having judged the old man. He felt sorry for wondering if his dedication to Andrea was noble or not. He was looking out for her—and maybe keeping her safe meant the same thing to him that finding Sophia alive meant to Daryl. Maybe it was just about needing to believe that there was some kind of justice left in the world and in the universe. Maybe it was the need to believe in something.

"She ain't gonna kill herself," Daryl said. "Not with everybody watching."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Dale said. "That—eventually—nobody will be watching." He sucked in a breath and let it out in a sigh. He walked a few steps away from Daryl, turned a small circle and walked back. "I've been watching a lot of things this afternoon." Daryl hummed at him. "I wouldn't leave Ed alone with Carol. I don't intend to leave them alone together. I can't help but notice, though, that he's still upset about his injuries but—he hardly seems upset about his daughter."

Daryl's stomach rolled again. He wanted to blame it on the beans he'd eaten out of a can for supper, but he wasn't certain that was what was causing his discomfort.

"You were watching him?" Daryl asked.

"And her," Dale said. "He wanted to sleep in their car tonight, but I suggested that everyone crowd into the RV. It's over-crowded and it's probably uncomfortable but...I thought it was better for everyone to be in there. It's safer in there than it would be to have everyone scattered around."

Daryl didn't tell Dale that he understood what the man had done or that he even thought his manipulation of the group was clever. He didn't tell him that he might have very well saved the woman's life, given his knowledge of what men like Ed were capable of. He didn't tell him that, for some odd reason, he appreciated Dale's suggesting to the group that they all crowd into the camper together, or that he was willing to give up the space he craved, for just a night, so that they all remained together in faux solidarity.

He didn't tell Dale that Ed disgusted him on a level that he couldn't even begin to put into words or that he'd noticed that the man hadn't so much as seemed to be a little bothered by his missing daughter while he'd been complaining over the food selection they had for their evening meal. He didn't tell him, either, that he thought it was disgusting that Ed remained in the bed in the RV instead of offering it to Andrea, who was sleeping on the floor, to share with Carol.

Instead, Daryl just dropped his cigarette on the ground, snubbed it out with the toe of his shoe, and hummed at Dale, and started back into the RV that he'd only recently left.

Rather than say all the things he could say to Dale, Daryl simply decided to say what he assumed would mean the most to him.

"Safer to stay on top the RV," Daryl said to the old man. "I'll check on Andrea."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol did her best to control her emotions. Her crying would only irritate those around her. It would only irritate Ed who seemed more bothered by the fact that she was upset—and therefore not acting exactly how he wanted her to—than he was that Sophia was missing. It would only make her more exhausted and more on edge to give into crying.

It wouldn't bring Sophia back, though.

The entire group was crammed into the RV. Even with the windows raised it was hot enough that Carol was sweating. So many bodies in such a small space stirred up her claustrophobia. She was grateful that she wasn't in a car—since the fear of suffocation was always much worse when she was in a car—but it was still difficult to breathe.

And it was difficult to lie next to Ed in the bed.

When he'd first gotten into bed, as though they weren't surrounded by so many other people, and as though their daughter wasn't missing in the woods somewhere, he'd run his hands over Carol's body like he was trying to get her attention and like she'd be interested in anything that he suggested. Telling Ed "no" about anything, though, could be tricky so Carol had simply remained as still as she could, eyes closed, and had focused on keeping her breathing steady. Eventually her trick had worked and Ed had lost interest and rolled over, leaving her alone.

But even lying next to him was more difficult than it usually was. The _hatred_ Carol felt for her husband was an emotion that she knew was wrong—after all, she was his wife and she was supposed to love him and be devoted to him for all the days of her life—but she couldn't control the emotion. She'd felt it for a long time, boiling around inside of her, but now it was almost drowning her.

When Ed was finally asleep and she couldn't stand it any longer, and when it felt like her lungs weren't getting any air at all, Carol finally eased out of bed as carefully as she could. She already planned to tell Ed she was going to the bathroom if he asked and hope that he fell back asleep, but he didn't wake when she got out of the bed.

Sweaty and nearly suffocating, Carol made her way through the RV as carefully as she could to avoid stepping on anyone. When she finally reached the door, she nearly burst out of it. At that moment, she wouldn't have cared if a herd of Walkers came down on her at once. In fact, she might have welcomed it.

The air outside was cooler than the air inside the RV and it was fresh. The minute that Carol's feet hit the pavement she sucked in big gulps of air. When she let them out, the sobs that she'd been swallowing back all night came out with the air, but she got them under control again as quickly as was humanly possible.

Crying, in Carol's world, was tricky. Ed enjoyed her tears—he relished them—when he wanted them to fall from her eyes. When he didn't want her to cry, however, the tears only made things worse. As a result, Carol had gotten pretty good at swallowing her tears back and reducing them to nothing more than silent drops of water that ran down her cheeks beyond her control. At least those kinds of tears could be wiped away quickly if the situation called for it.

"Andrea?" Dale called from atop the RV.

"Carol," Carol said.

Dale walked to the edge of the RV and looked down at Carol. He waved his hand upward at her.

"Come on up," he said. "Safer up here than it is on the ground."

Carol didn't have the heart to tell him that, at that moment, part of her was standing down there wishing that a Walker would come by and simply do away with her. She didn't have the heart to tell him because she knew, from watching him with Andrea, that Dale couldn't handle thinking that some of them were thinking they might be ready to say goodbye to the world around them.

Carol walked around to the back of the RV and started up the ladder back there. As she neared the top, Dale offered out a hand to her and she took it, letting him help her the rest of the way up.

"It's a nice night," Dale said. "It's been pretty still. The most activity we've had has come from the camper."

"You haven't seen anything?" Carol asked. "Heard anything?"

"Nothing at all," Dale said. "Except for Daryl. He's been in and out a few times to walk around. Shane came out once, too, but he didn't stay out long."

"It's hot in there," Carol said. "Hard to breathe."

"A little harder for some than for others, I imagine," Dale said. "It feels nice out here."

"I could take watch for a little while," Carol offered. "If you wanted to try to sleep? I could—let everyone know if I see something."

Dale laughed to himself.

"It's been years since I've slept through a whole night," Dale said. "It's been since before my wife passed. They don't tell you that, but the older you get—the less you sleep. I just can't manage a full night anymore."

"I can't sleep either," Carol said with a sigh. Dale gestured toward the chair that he had up there and Carol accepted his invitation to sit. She eased down into the chair and watched the man as he stood, looking out at the empty darkness. The stars were bright enough, though, that they almost made Carol forget that the world was now void of all the artificial lights to which they'd become accustomed at night. "I'd hoped she'd come back. Ed's sleeping. I just keep—worrying about Sophia."

"Ed doesn't seem to have any problem sleeping," Dale said. "Not even when there's something on his mind that would keep most of us awake." He fell silent for a moment, not going any further into detail about his observations of Carol's husband. When he picked up, he'd changed his line of thinking just a little. "It's better that she's not out at this hour," Dale said. "She's probably somewhere safe. She'll stay there until morning. That's when she'll probably be looking for us—just about the time that we're setting out to look for her. I talked to Daryl. He seems sure we'll find her in the morning."

"Are you?" Carol asked.

"I'm sure we'll find her," Dale said. He didn't elaborate any more, though, on his thoughts about Carol's daughter either. Instead, he simply paced a small circle around the roof of the RV, watching out at the darkness that felt completely empty—despite how much, really, Carol knew there was out there in the night.

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

There simply came a point where it wasn't worth it anymore. There came a point where wallowing around on the floor hoping to sleep was making Daryl more miserable than he'd be if he just accepted the fact that he wasn't going to sleep at all. Lying on the floor, thinking about how he _should_ be sleeping was just getting him worked up to a point where he wouldn't have been able to sleep if everything had been absolutely perfect.

Daryl growled to himself as he sat up again in his spot. He found his boots in the darkness and worked his feet back into them. Then he pulled his bag around—a lumpy and pathetic excuse for a pillow, but it was all that he had at the moment—to make sure that he had everything he'd need to navigate the darkness outside for a little while.

When he stood up, Daryl looked around him.

Carol had gone outside and she hadn't come back. He couldn't help but notice the coming and going that took place in the RV since he was practically sleeping in front of the doorway. He might have worried about her—especially since it seemed that nobody else would—except he knew that Dale was outside and keeping watch.

And keeping watch, as far as Dale was concerned, seemed to include keeping watch over the people around him.

Still sitting, slumped against the wall, Andrea continued to hug her legs. Daryl didn't know if she'd drifted off to sleep or not during the night—maybe nodding a little here or there—but she looked in his direction as he stood up. She wasn't sleeping right now.

"Are you happy here?" Daryl asked her, keeping his voice low.

"Are you talking to me?" Andrea responded.

"You and me—we're the only ones awake," Daryl said. "Are you happy here?"

"Where?" Andrea asked.

Daryl laughed to himself. If he wanted to have a deep conversation with her, he might respond back with "on this planet," but right now he wasn't looking to get that involved.

"Sitting on your ass, balled up in a corner," Daryl responded. "Not sleeping."

"No," Andrea said.

"You wanna—come outside?" Daryl asked.

Andrea didn't respond. She was looking at him—even though it was dark he could tell that her face was turned toward him—but she wasn't saying anything. Maybe she didn't know what he meant. Maybe she wasn't sure how to take the question.

Daryl cleared his throat.

"Can't sleep," Daryl said. "Can't stand to be in here no more. I'm goin' lookin' for the girl. Walkin' the highway. Just a piece. You wanna come with me or you wanna stay here and hold down the wall?"

Andrea rolled around a little, slowly unravelling herself from the ball she'd made, and Daryl reached a hand out in her direction. She couldn't be comfortable because she hadn't even taken off her boots. She was sitting there exactly as she'd been since they'd finished eating. Daryl pulled her to her feet as soon as she gave him her hand and he stepped out of the RV while she was still adjusting her clothes. Andrea followed after him, a moment later.

"Daryl?" Dale called down when the door closed behind them.

"It's me," Daryl responded.

"Who's that?" Dale asked.

"Andrea," Daryl responded.

"What's going on? Is there a problem?" Dale asked.

Daryl flicked on his flashlight, pleased to see that the batteries were still going strong.

"No problem, Dale," Daryl said. "Can't sleep. Gonna walk the road. Just a piece. Look for the girl."

"I thought you said she wouldn't be out," Carol said. "Not this time of night."

"Prob'ly won't," Daryl responded. "But I'm not sleeping anyway. Might as well have a look."

"I'm going with him," Andrea said.

"You should stay here," Dale responded.

"I could come," Carol offered from the roof.

Daryl laughed to himself. He was dragging Andrea with him, perhaps, more for her own good than for his. He didn't really want to take the two of them out there, in the dark, to look for the girl.

"You oughta stay here," Daryl said. "Just in case. Stay with Dale."

"In case of what?" Carol asked.

Daryl stopped himself from responding in the manner that first came to mind— _just in case your husband decides to do something stupid and I'm not here to kill him before Rick stops me_.

"If she's out here, might stir her up. She might try to come to the light and miss us. Maybe—helps her find her way back to the highway. You oughta be out here—just in case she shows up," Daryl responded. He absolutely didn't think that things would happen that way, but it was as good a bullshit reason as any to keep the woman on the roof and away from the asshole that was asleep in the only genuine bed they had.

"What if you run into trouble?" Dale asked.

"Won't," Daryl responded. He started walking and Andrea started walking on his heels. He could hear her boots crunching behind him on the loose gravel that had gotten kicked up here and there on the highway.

The night carried sounds, and behind him he could hear Dale talking to Carol. He could hear the old man worrying. Still, Daryl wasn't going to tell him—not straight out—the code he'd decided to keep between the two of them. Keep Carol safe to keep Daryl's concerns about the woman down, and Daryl would keep Andrea safe to keep Dale's concerns at a minimum.

Dale didn't have to know about it for it to work because Daryl knew, regardless of if he said it or not, why it was that Dale hadn't let that rifle leave his hands since Sophia had gone missing.

Over Dale's worries, though, Daryl heard something that he didn't expect to hear. He heard something that he wasn't going to acknowledge, even though it made his stomach catch in an odd sort of way as he led the blonde down the highway.

He heard Carol speak to Dale—offering support to him in the midst of her own crisis.

"Don't worry, Dale. She'll be safe with Daryl."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"It's just us now," Andrea said. "Nobody's around. Nobody's listening. Do you think we're going to find her, really? Daryl?"

That was the question that Daryl felt he had heard every hour, on the hour, since Sophia had been lost. The truth of the matter was that he had no way of knowing whether or not they'd find the girl. He had no magic ball that he could look into. He had no cards that he could read. He was guessing, just like the rest of them.

Yet it seemed that everyone wanted his opinion on the matter so much that each of them asked him the question, individually, like he was going to share some secret with them that he hadn't shared with anyone else.

The woods were dark. He and Andrea were far enough away from the creek that Daryl doubted Sophia would have made it that far out without just finding the highway first. Still, like he had no magical way of knowing if the girl was still alive and waiting to be found, he had no way of being sure how far she'd travel in a state of panic. As long as they were searching, they might as well make it worthwhile. Watching the ground in front of them with his flashlight, Daryl identified some tracks here and there, but without knowing where they began, it was difficult to figure anything out about them. They might have belonged to Sophia, but there was just a good of a chance that they didn't.

"We'll find her," Daryl said. "Maybe not tonight, but we'll find her."

"You believe she can really be alive out here?" Andrea asked.

"You really believe she can't?" Daryl responded.

"We're having a hard enough time staying alive together," Andrea said.

"Just because you're keepin' company don't mean they're always gonna keep you alive," Daryl said.

"She's out here, exposed to everything," Andrea said.

"I spent a whole damn week lost in the woods," Daryl said. "I weren't as old as she is." He laughed to himself. "Fuckin' livin' on twigs and berries and anything else I could get in my mouth. Worms and bugs even. Wipin' my ass with leaves and—too damn stupid to know, at the time, that I was wipin' my ass with poison ivy. My ass itched somethin' crazy." Andrea laughed and Daryl laughed too. It was the first time he'd heard the woman laugh in a while, so he'd wouldn't rag her too hard about what she found humor in. "Point is," Daryl said, "that I made it back on my own. Went straight in the damn house and made myself a sandwich. Difference is—weren't nobody out lookin' for me. Weren't nobody carin' too much if I come back or not. Sophia? She's got people out lookin' for her. Got a Ma worth comin' home to."

"The difference is that she's out here with these things—these Walkers," Andrea said.

"So am I," Daryl said. "And so are you. She's small. Quick. I just ain't gonna count her out. Not yet."

"You don't want to say that you don't think she's out here or...you really believe she's out here?" Andrea asked. "Because there's a difference."

Daryl hummed to himself. He could accept that there was a very big difference between the two things, but he wasn't sure he wanted to draw the line between them right now.

"The minute we give up on somethin'," Daryl said. "That's when the hell we really lose it."

"That doesn't make any sense," Andrea said, some levity to her voice that was refreshing—especially since Daryl had been watching her in the RV for most of the night and worrying over whether or not she'd jam the screwdriver through her own throat that she'd used, earlier that day, to take out a Walker that had tried to have her for a midday meal.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You don't make any sense," Daryl responded. He laughed to himself again when he heard Andrea's response.

"Are we on the playground now?" Andrea asked.

Daryl didn't respond to her because he heard a sound that caught his attention. He held his hand up in her direction and Andrea stopped moving forward. She stilled, as did Daryl, and she held her breath for a moment. Daryl heard her when she started breathing again, quietly. He could still hear the growling too. They weren't alone.

Daryl eased forward, his hand back to request that Andrea stay where she was, and walked slowly in the direction of the growling. He drew his knife. Knife in one hand and flashlight in the other, he was prepared to meet the Walker that he knew was somewhere in the darkness around them. It got louder as he moved forward and, when he stepped around a kudzu covered tree, he found it.

Daryl looked back toward Andrea.

"You can come on," he said. "He ain't gettin' nobody."

Andrea walked up to join him and Daryl shined his flashlight up at the Walker that was swinging from a rope.

"Look at him," Daryl said.

"That's disgusting," Andrea commented.

Daryl stepped forward and pulled a piece of paper from the tree that was nailed there. He read it in the light of the flashlight, and then he shared it out loud with Andrea.

"Got bit, fever hit, world gone to shit, might as well quit," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "Asshole must've thought he was a poet."

"He got bit and he tried to take care of it," Andrea said.

"What'd Jenner call it?" Daryl mused. "Opting out? He was a dumbass. Shoulda known to shoot himself in the head. Now look at him. Hangin' up there like a deranged piñata. Sick."

"Can we please stop talking about it?" Andrea asked.

Daryl quickly shined the flashlight at her. She looked a little green around the gills. Still, that made it all the more amusing to him. Part of playing on the playground, as she'd put it, was trying to get to the other players. Daryl was certainly getting to her.

He swallowed his smile and redirected the light back to the gruesome sight in front of them.

"Look at him—there's no more meat on his bones. He's just swinging around and the other Walkers? They're just coming by and ripping the flesh off his legs. Eating him all the way up as far as they can reach. Stripped him clean," Daryl continued.

He laughed to himself when he heard Andrea give in and take to puking a few feet away from him.

"God!" She declared. "I asked if we could talk about something else."

Daryl didn't even bother to try to hide his amusement. Honestly, he was relishing it. It was the lightest he'd felt in a couple of days.

"That's what the hell you get for laughing about my itchy ass," Daryl said. "Payback's a bitch. Stay here. Keep him company. I'ma look in the tent."

Andrea stood perfectly still right on the spot where he left her as though stepping off an inch in either direction would land her just as lost as the girl they were searching for. Daryl took his flashlight and stepped into the half-fallen tent that the man had left behind. It was empty other than a few belongings, but rummaging through those didn't turn up anything that was really even worth scavenging. The man had left behind an open pack of cigarettes, so Daryl took those and left everything else to finish rotting now that some animal had come through and torn most of it up so that it was exposed to the elements.

Stepping back out of the tent, he found Andrea in exactly the same position he'd left her in—arms crossed across her chest, staring up at the Walker that was doomed to swing forever and fight for food it would never reach.

"Sorry asshole," Daryl commented. "Come on. There ain't nothin' here. Sophia ain't been through here."

"You're just going to leave him?" Andrea asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"What the hell you want me to do with him?" He asked. "Take him back with us?"

"You can't leave him like that," Andrea said.

"He chose this," Daryl said. "It's what the hell he wanted. He's the one decided to do it. Let him hang."

Andrea caught Daryl's shoulder as he started to turn to head back to the RV. He stopped. Maybe she was seeing, now, that opting out wasn't the beautiful thing that she might've thought it could be. It could take you away from some horrors, of course, but the result was that you were still dead.

But it seemed to mean a lot to her that Daryl do something about the Walker.

Daryl sighed.

"What'cha want me to do?" Daryl asked. "I'm not gonna climb up there."

"You've got a bow," Andrea said.

"Waste of arrow," Daryl said. "I won't get it back."

"Please?" Andrea asked.

Daryl considered it a moment. It meant a lot to her. For whatever reason, she needed to know that he'd put that stupid Walker down.

Daryl hummed at her.

"Arrow for an answer," Daryl said.

"What?" Andrea asked.

"You wanna live now?" Daryl asked. "Arrow for an answer."

Andrea stared at him. She looked back to the Walker and then back at Daryl.

"Ok," she said. "Just—take care of it. I can't stand to hear it anymore."

Daryl raised the bow and shot an arrow at the head of the Walker. Immediately it went limp and swung, still propelled by its earlier motion, until it slowed to barely swaying at all on the end of its rope.

"I held up my end," Daryl said. "You wanna live now? Done tryin' to off yourself?"

"I don't know if I want to live," Andrea said. "Or—if it's just a habit. I don't know if I'm just—living because there's nothing else to do."

"You gonna stop tryin' to off yourself?" Daryl asked.

Andrea stared at him. She shifted her weight a few times, clearly nervous as she thought over his question. It was answer enough, really, and Daryl realized that it made his stomach churn. He realized, without having any reason to feel that way, that he didn't want the blonde to off herself.

He didn't want her to die. Not like that.

When she opened her mouth, she didn't give him the answer he was expecting. Instead, she changed the topic of conversation.

"Why didn't you want Ed to come when you were looking for Sophia?" Andrea asked. "Why did you—ask Rick to leave him behind?"

"You didn't answer my question," Daryl said.

"I answered one of them," Andrea said. "And I only agreed to one answer. One arrow, one answer."

"Not much of a damn answer," Daryl pointed out.

"Just because you didn't like my answer didn't mean I didn't answer," Andrea responded. "I kept up my end of the deal. Why didn't you want Ed to go? You didn't even ask him if he wanted to."

Daryl stared at her and she stared back at him. He nodded his head at her.

"Fine," he said. "An answer for a promise." Andrea hesitated a moment. "You in or not? Can't stand out here all night."

"Deal," Andrea said with a sigh.

"You promise me that'cha get over whatever the hell you got goin' on. Don't give a damn what'cha reason for livin' is, but find one," Daryl said.

Andrea nodded her head.

"Fine," she said. "I promise. Your turn."

Daryl sucked his teeth.

"If you were a kid—and that asshole was lookin' for you? Would'ja come?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Andrea asked.

"If you were a kid," Daryl repeated, "and that asshole was lookin' for you? Would'ja come? See—I don't figure her old man's her favorite person. Hearin' him out here? Might just make her run harder in the other direction. I know it would me."

Andrea hesitated, but finally she spoke. She chose, as she had before, to pick up at her own spot in the conversation rather than to pick up where Daryl had left off.

"I think it's—it's good that you're looking for her," Andrea said. "It's important."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head. He turned and headed back, then, in the direction that they'd come. He knew that Andrea would follow him. She really had no other choice. He heard her feet crunching on the leaves only a second after he'd taken his first steps.

"Daryl?" Andrea said, once they were walking again.

"What?" He asked.

"What's your reason?" Andrea asked. "For living in all of this?"

Daryl considered it. He didn't want to lie to Andrea. She didn't seem like the kind of woman who would appreciate being lied to. But he wasn't a hundred percent sure of the answer, either.

"Changes," Daryl said. "Everyday. Sometimes—once or twice a day. Sometimes more than that. Right now? It's to get your ass back to the RV safe. So Dale don't have a heart attack. So I don't gotta—drag your sorry ass body back."

He laughed to himself when he heard her snort behind him.

"Maybe my reason, then, is so you don't have to drag my sorry ass body back," Andrea said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Hold onto that, then, it'll get you through until you find something else," Daryl responded.

1111111111111111111111111111111111111

 **AN: I feel I need to add this so nobody is given to misinterpreting things here. Daryl's interaction/friendship with Andrea here is not meant to be seen as anything romantic. His interest in her is strictly "familial".**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"I'll stay here with T-Dog and Andrea, and I'll keep working on the RV," Dale said.

Daryl knew that nobody was going to argue with that. Dale was the only one that knew how to work on the vehicle that seemed determined to remain in a permanent state of non-repair. In addition, T-Dog was too ill to go out looking for Sophia and, although he _would_ go, Dale could end up being more of a liability than an asset.

"Carl, you can stay with Dale," Lori said, not bothering to ask the man if he minded keeping an eye on the kid.

"I wanna go look for Sophia," Carl argued.

Daryl stepped away because he couldn't stand to hear the kid argue. He couldn't stand the back and forth that often happened between the boy and his parents. Ultimately he figured that Carl would do whatever he wanted—since that seemed to be the way that he did everything—but Daryl wanted to miss the in-between.

Daryl walked over to the car where the collection of hand-held weapons they had between them was laid out on the hood. Glenn was looking over the items and Daryl picked up a hatchet and held it out in Glenn's direction. Without saying anything, Glenn took the item and walked away. Daryl assumed that meant that he agreed with Daryl's choice for him.

Daryl glanced around him and saw Carol standing, arms crossed tight across her chest, a few feet away from him.

"You going?" Daryl asked.

She shook her head.

"I don't know if I can do anything," Carol said. "I'm not—I don't know how to kill these things."

Daryl picked up a knife and its sheath. He held it in his hands for a moment. It was light, but a quick test of the blade said it was sharp. It would be easy for her to handle. Something with more leverage would mean that she'd need strength to drive the weapon into the skull of the Walker, but she'd also need a certain amount to remove it. The movement that it would require, for instance, to free one of the machetes from a skull might be more challenging than the simple push and pull of the knife.

Daryl passed Carol the knife.

"Take this," Daryl said. "You gonna stay with me, so you might not even need it, but it's better you got it than you don't."

"I don't know how to use it," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Get it in the damn thing's head," Daryl said. "For now? Go through the eyeball. Up the base of the skull if you come up on it from behind. Those are your sweet spots."

"I've never done it," Carol said.

"Nobody did," Daryl said. "Until they did. Knife'll be good for now. Learn to use that, we'll see what else you get later."

Daryl walked back toward the rest of the group in time to hear something of an argument taking place between Andrea and Shane. He listened to it long enough to overhear that it was a dispute about the gun that she'd brought with her. She wanted it back, now that it had been confiscated. Shane didn't want her to have it back.

Both of them had pretty solid arguments.

Shane didn't want people popping off shots for no reason. The sound of the gunfire would draw Walkers. Shooting a gun was a stupid thing to do unless there was no other choice—and, realistically, if there was no other choice they were likely to die anyway.

Andrea wanted a weapon to make her feel more secure. If she was dedicated to the idea of not dying, she wanted to stick to that. Furthermore, she'd made it clear since the CDC that she didn't want to die by Walker. She'd rather die any other way, it seemed—even being blown to bits—than to suffer being torn into by one of the creatures. She saw the gun as a way to keep that from happening.

But nobody won a damn thing when it came to Rick or Shane and Daryl didn't really want Andrea firing off shots either—especially since he fully intended to take the blonde with him when Dale stepped in, as Daryl knew he would, to say that she shouldn't be going out there at all. If she drew Walkers down onto them, she'd be drawing them right into Daryl's territory.

Daryl caught the blonde by the back of the arm and pulled her away from Rick and Shane both. Maybe she was too caught up in a haze of feeling sorry for herself to realize that she wouldn't get anywhere with them, but arguing with them both was useless.

"You don't wanna go shootin' off some damn gun out there 'cause you get spooked," Daryl said, pulling Andrea with him.

"I don't want to die out there because I'm not able to defend myself," Andrea responded with as much bite in her voice as Daryl supposed he'd used.

"Here," Daryl said, reaching the car where the weapons were laid out. He picked through them and, with the same idea in mind that he'd had with Carol, he offered Andrea a knife. "You got one with a screwdriver. Try this on for size. Handles better."

"I hate getting that close to them," Andrea admitted.

"Better to get that close to 'em with that in your hand," Daryl said. He didn't finish his statement. He didn't have to. Andrea would understand the rest and he was confident of that. She was blonde, but she wasn't stupid. He left her there, knife in her possession, grumbling about the injustice done to her and returned to where everyone was bunching together to listen to Rick's instructions about how things would be handled. He listened to the tail end of Rick's instructions and only then did he toss in his two cents. "Everybody's gonna hang back. Lemme look at the creek for a bit. From there? We'll figure out the best way to go. Don't follow too close, though. Don't need everyone stirrin' up the tracks."

"Andrea," Dale said, interjecting just as everyone was starting to check to make sure they were ready for the trip into the woods, "you should stay here."

"I'm going out there, Dale," Andrea responded. "I'm looking for Sophia."

"She's goin'," Daryl said.

At Daryl's declaration, Andrea started toward the guardrail to climb over it and wait on the grass with Carol who had already climbed over. Daryl half expected Dale to argue with him, but he was surprised when the old man didn't. Instead, he simply leaned a little closer to Daryl and did his best to hold his eyes.

"Keep an eye on her," Dale said. "If anything happens..."

"It won't," Daryl said. "Fix the radiator."

"Ed? It's time to get a move on," Shane called in the direction of Ed who was sitting on the RV steps smoking a cigarette. Daryl looked at the man and did his best not to let his face make the expression that it naturally wanted to make when Ed was present. He didn't have time to go a few rounds with the man and he was sure that Ed would run his mouth off if he _saw_ what Daryl thought of him.

Ed stood up from where he was smoking the cigarette and made his way over to the guardrail with all the rush of a turtle. Daryl had time to walk over there, crawl over, and help Glenn untangle the strap on his bag before Ed had closed the distance.

"Ain't goin'," Ed said.

Shane laughed to himself. He shook his head.

"We're lookin' for your kid, Ed," Shane said. "Don't you think you should probably join us?"

Ed smirked at him.

"Ain't in no condition," Ed said. "Still get dizzy with the heat and movin' around too much. Concussion, maybe."

"Brain damage, probably," Andrea grumbled, low enough that Ed wouldn't hear her. Daryl heard her, though.

Daryl had to swallow a few times, hard, in rapid succession to keep from laughing or choking on the laughter that the comment almost brought up.

Shane looked like he was moments away from laying into Ed like he'd done before—possibly because his blood pressure was already up over one of the discussions that Daryl had stepped away from between Shane, Rick, and their mutual love interest.

"How long you think you're gonna have that concussion, Ed?" Shane asked.

"Hard to say," Ed responded.

"You looked fine to me," Shane said. "Running from the CDC. It didn't seem to slow you down then."

Ed sucked his teeth.

"Comes and goes," Ed said. "It don't make no sense no way. All of you going out there looking. You're doing nothing but searching for a corpse. If you ain't noticed? The world's overrun with those as it is."

Daryl felt his own head go somewhat light at the comment. He narrowed his eyes and did his best to swallow back the anger that boiled up within him just the same as the laughter had done before.

"Stay here," Daryl growled, unable to remain entirely silent like he wished he could. "Don't need you no way."

"Weren't me that got her lost," Ed said.

"No, you were doin' a damn world a' good for everyone, stuck in that car," Daryl snarled.

He reminded himself to back off when he saw the expression that crossed Ed's face. If it were just the two of them, he might've kept going. If it were just the two of them, he might've tried to incite Ed to fight with him. Daryl never cared too much for starting fights, but he'd finish them. Merle had taught him, early on, that the best thing to do if you had a mind to bust someone's ass was to let them get one good punch in. After all, anything that happened after that was purely self-defense.

Daryl was almost certain that, given the chance, he could kill Ed in self-defense, with just his hands.

But Ed wouldn't throw the first punch—not at Daryl. Instead, his eyes immediately flicked over in Carol's direction. Moving faster than he'd moved in the past few days, Ed leaned across the guardrail and caught Carol by the back of the arm. He pulled her closer to him, like he intended to pull her back over the guardrail. Daryl didn't have to move. Everyone in the group, all at once, shifted forward like they might get between Ed and his wife every bit as much as the rail was.

"Where you think you're going?" Ed asked.

"I have to look for her, Ed," Carol said.

"You ain't gonna find her," Ed said, speaking to Carol and then to the rest of the group before he turned his focus back to his wife. "Ain't none of you gonna find her. You can't even keep your own self alive. How you think that a kid's gonna keep herself alive out there?"

Carol stared at him and visibly swallowed.

"I have to look," she said quietly.

Daryl was just about to insert himself into the conversation with some insistence that Carol come, but Rick beat him to the punch. He reached out—like every cop who was ever putting himself in the middle of a sticky situation—and put his hand on Ed's arm. He kept it there, even though Ed didn't immediately let go of his wife.

"Now—Ed? She's Sophia's mother. It's only right that she go out there. Sophia's more likely to come to Carol than she is to any of us. It's a voice that she knows. Carol's voice is familiar. A mother's voice means comfort and safety to a child. We need her to go with us," Rick said. "We asked her to go."

Ed laughed to himself and somewhat shook Carol by her arm before he released her, holding Rick's eyes with his the whole time.

"She ain't no source of nothin' for that girl," Ed said. He looked at Carol. "Fine," he said. "Go on. Go on out there. You'll see. You'll all see. You won't find a damn thing. Go out there, Carol. Get your damn self killed. Get someone else killed in the process. Ain't no skin off my teeth. None of you don't mean a damn thing to me. Be better for me, probably, if you didn't come back at all."

Ed turned and walked away before anyone could say anything, not that anyone really knew what to say. Lori and Andrea both reached out for Carol and, pulling her into them, walked a short distance off with her. Daryl didn't listen to what they had to say to her. He doubted she was listening either.

There wasn't anything they could do.

Someone with a thorn like Ed stuck in their side was stuck with his ass, these days especially, until he up and took to walking with the rest of the dead—the most activity that Daryl expected a man like Ed to commit to doing.

Daryl hung back a moment when Rick started to lead the group down to the woods and waved his hand at Dale. Dale walked over and leaned over the guardrail in Daryl's direction.

"I got Andrea," Daryl said. "Don't'cha worry about that. You got your rifle?"

Dale nodded his head.

Daryl glanced in the direction of Ed, now leaned against the RV, and knew that Dale would follow his eyes.

"Keep it close," Daryl said. "You got reason to use it, don't hesitate."


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Just to let you know, I might be able to get another update out in the coming week, but I doubt it. Real life is about to take over and I won't be able to really update anything until August at least. Nothing is being abandoned, I just won't have time to write. I thank you for understanding.**

 **I also ask that you forgive any mistakes in this chapter. The silence needed for writing/editing got interrupted during my final edit.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

They'd barely chosen a direction to begin their search and waded into the woods before the bells started. When the first clanging noise of the bells rang out, it nearly made Daryl jump out of his skin. In the silence surrounding them—a silence they were guarding as carefully as they could—the sound was unbelievably loud and unexpected. Around him, several others had a visible reaction to the surprise start-up of the noise. A couple of people even squeaked out a sound in response.

As soon as the initial shock had settled, though, and everyone had started to try to identify the noise rather than simply be caught in state of question, they'd figured out it was church bells.

Church bells were ringing through the woods and breaking the almost complete silence of the morning. There was no explanation for them except for the simple fact that someone must be ringing them. Someone must be using the bells to call people to them—the same as the bells had likely called parishioners up for service—and there was no reason to believe that it absolutely couldn't be Sophia choosing to use the bells to call all of them for help.

There was no reason to believe that it wasn't Sophia, so they all chose to believe that it _was_ her.

Following the sound had been difficult at first because it echoed off the trees around them. The closer they got to it, though, the easier it was to locate the church. When they broke through the trees and entered the clearing that had been well-maintained, at least until the end of the world, they immediately saw the one thing that none of them were prepared for.

There was no bell tower. There was no steeple. This wasn't a church that was built, in any way, to support the large and heavy bells that would be required to make the sound that was issuing forth from it.

The explanations, all dismissing Sophia, began to circle quickly. If the bells had been visible, they'd have known immediately where to find her. As it was, they had no way of knowing if she was even there.

And that realization immediately sunk over Carol's features when Shane announced that there was no steeple and, therefore, Sophia wasn't there. The bells, he reasoned, were likely a sound that played on a timer. He was probably correct, but it didn't mean that they should immediately dismiss the possible presence of the girl.

"She could still be in there," Daryl said. He saw Carol's hopes rise a little just with the suggestion. "We oughta at least check it out."

"It's shelter!" Carol said quickly. "Maybe she found it."

Daryl nodded his acceptance of Carol's suggestion and picked up his pace toward the church once more.

"One way or the other, gotta stop the bells," he called back. "Gonna call up every Walker within fifty miles."

Part of him still hoped to find that the bells were there, somehow hidden, and that Sophia was manipulating them. A quick search around the outside of the building, though, found the box that controlled the sound. It was nothing more than a recording of sorts and breaking the wires there killed the sound immediately.

Sophia wasn't ringing the bells, but Daryl wasn't prepared to dismiss the possibility that she'd found the church.

Rick was pushing people back at the door when Daryl came around the side of the building. He waved Daryl, Shane, and Glenn up the steps to join him and he tried the knob. The doors were open. They weren't barred or locked. If he pulled back on them, they'd swing open. It was highly possible that the girl found the church and was waiting just inside, afraid to come back out again.

There was also a chance that any number of Walkers could be inside or that there might even be other people there.

So Rick signaled that Glenn and Daryl would open the doors and allow he and Shane to pass inside first in the manner that they were most accustomed to entering spaces filled with possible enemies. The cop inside, after all, seemed to take over from time to time.

They burst inside to find the building empty except for three Walkers that were sitting, like obedient parishioners, in the pews where they'd possibly died waiting for some kind of salvation. Stepping quickly down the aisle, Rick and Shane each took out a Walker. Daryl came up behind them and took out the final one. Then he called out for the girl, still hoping she might be somewhere in the building and might have simply avoided the three very focused Walkers.

But she wasn't there.

Daryl felt the same sinking sensation that he saw cross Carol's features as he delivered the news to her—with nothing more than a shake of his head—that Sophia wasn't there.

"Can we stay a moment?" Lori asked. She gestured her hand toward the large crucifix that hung at the front of the church.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. It wasn't up to him, but he didn't care either way. He wouldn't mind a moment to gather up his innards since it felt like they'd fallen to his feet with the realization that Sophia was still every bit as lost as she had been.

"Take ten minutes," Shane said. "It'll give us all time to regroup. Figure out where we go from here."

"Where we go?" Carol asked quickly. "We go to look for her! She's still out there."

Shane stepped in before Daryl reached Carol and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I mean where we look for her," Shane said. "She's still out there, but it isn't doing us any good to go looking for her without some kind of plan."

"She's right," Daryl offered. "We go out there not thinking about where we are right now and where we've been, we'll just be walking circles. Falling over ourselves. Take a couple minutes."

Daryl didn't take part in the planning, though, because he really didn't believe that they needed it quite as much as Rick and Shane did—he simply believed that Carol needed some kind of explanation of what was happening. The most they really required in the way of a "plan" was figuring out where they were going next, and that could simply be a direction. The tracks that Sophia left behind weren't great. She walked too lightly to leave good tracks and Walkers and animals had stirred up a great deal of ground during the night.

It was searching for a needle in a haystack right now, but Daryl liked the challenge. Their best bet was to keep their eyes open for signs and look for places, like the church, where a small girl would see a shelter and decide to use it.

It was Rick and Shane that needed to piss around a bit more, like cops, and make plans that they'd never stick to because they were ridiculous to begin with.

Daryl stood at the back of the church and watched as Lori went up and said some sort of prayer to the wooden Jesus at the front of the building. She asked for safety for herself and her family. As an afterthought, she tacked on the request that the safety be extended to everyone else. She thanked the figure for Rick's return and for getting them this far—all the way to a small church in the middle of nowhere.

When Lori settled in a pew, Carol took to her knees in front of the wooden Jesus and Daryl straightened up a little.

Her words echoed, but she didn't seem to notice or care.

The message she had to share with the wooden Jesus wasn't one of thanks. It was one of begging and pleading—and regret. Every word she said, by virtue of the meaning of the words and the sound of her voice, clawed at Daryl's insides like the now-dead Walkers wished they could've done.

"I know that what I did was wrong," Carol said. "I know it was wrong—to wish Ed dead. All those times I thought—I'd be better off without him. All those times—I hoped he just wouldn't come home. Every time I prayed that—that something would happen to him. That he'd go away and never come back. That I could raise my little girl without him. I know it was wrong. It's wrong to hate. I know—it's wrong to hate my husband. I prayed he'd die. I prayed he'd be gone somewhere. Where he could never lay a hand on me again. On his daughter. It was wrong of me to pray for Ed's death. I know that. But if this is my punishment? Please. Please. Punish me, but don't punish my daughter. Please don't let—please don't let losing her be my punishment. Punish me—however you like. Take me. Take my life. In exchange for his. In exchange for hers. But please—don't punish my baby girl. Not for what I've done."

The pleading went on for a few minutes, but it felt like it went on for hours. Daryl gnawed at his cuticle and thumb nail to keep his hands busy. He shifted his weight several times and he gritted his teeth against the sound of it.

He'd never been the kind of devout Christian that had sat in church and held down a pew every single Sunday. He'd never been a member of a congregation that would be missed if he were to never come back. But he'd been to church a few times. He'd gone, more than once, simply seeking some kind of clarity.

He couldn't say that he strictly subscribed to all the hellfire and brimstone speeches that he'd ever heard in his life, but he'd found something there that he held onto—even if it wasn't what he was supposed to get out of everything.

But the way that Daryl saw God, and Jesus, and even the Holy Spirit, was probably different than the way that others saw Him or Them or whatever.

It wasn't God, in Daryl's mind, that threw little girls into Walker infested worlds. It wasn't God, even, who threw children to parents who wanted to beat them into some kind of sick submission. It wasn't God who condemned women and children to the living Hell of life with a man like Ed Peletier.

But Daryl Dixon didn't pretend to truly understand every aspect of God. He only pretended to know what _he_ believed—and he'd gotten that out of his own musings and not really from any great authority.

He couldn't feel like this—any of it—was God's _doing_. Maybe He let it happen to let them save themselves, but Daryl just couldn't stomach feeling like the deity would actually _revel_ in this.

But Daryl Dixon really wasn't sure how much he knew about God and how much he'd just made up to be something "extra" that helped him get through some spots in his life. As he'd told Andrea, after all, it didn't matter what got you up and at 'em, it only mattered that you got up.

 _It was only then that Daryl realized he'd lost track of Andrea. She hadn't stayed behind to offer any words to the wooden Jesus._

As soon as Carol was settled in a pew with Lori, Daryl walked quickly up the aisle of the church. It had been years since he'd last made his way up a similar aisle. He'd decided, since then, that he was much more at peace with the God he believed in if he wasn't in a church and overwhelmed with other people's opinions of their Divine Creator. Still, he made the trip up to the front and he stared at the pained face of the wooden Jesus.

 _He understood pain. Daryl couldn't believe He'd revel in it for those that He'd come to save. It just didn't feel right. Not to Daryl._

"Hey—J.C.?" Daryl asked the wooden figure. "You takin' requests?"

Of course, the figure didn't respond to him. He didn't expect some kind of divine communication. Still, if what he'd heard, and what he believed, was true, his requests would be known. Right or wrong, they'd be known. He could only hope that they would good enough to be honored. If not for him, for better people that, maybe, better deserved the mercy.

Daryl quickly backtracked down the aisle and stepped outside of the church. He went down the steps quickly and scanned his eyes over the surrounding area until they landed on the blonde that he'd temporarily misplaced. She was alive and as well as could be expected. That was all he could ask.

"Ought to get a move on," Daryl called out, finding a cigarette and lighting it.

Rick turned and looked at him.

"We think we ought to look around a little more in this area," Rick said. "Maybe Sophia heard the bells. Maybe she'll come this way."

"I think we oughta look back more in the direction of the highway," Daryl said. "There was a tent out there we found last night. Sophia weren't there, but if people were taking to the woods—looking for a safe spot? They wouldn'ta gone too deep into the woods. Not unless they really knew what they were doing. Keep that safety of knowin' where the road is. Might be more tents out there."

"Me and Rick," Shane said. "We'll keep looking out here. We can make it back to the highway on our own. If we split up, we cover more ground."

Daryl nodded his head.

"I'll take everybody else with me," Daryl said. "Make sure they get back safe."

Rick stood there for a moment and contemplated what Daryl had said before he nodded his acceptance.

"Let's go," Rick said. "Round everybody up. Let them know the plan."

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

 **AN: I know that there's a part in Carol's speech about Ed's way of looking at Sophia. That might be mentioned at some point, but for the most part I'm not focusing on that. We will see Ed, here, as a skeevy individual and an abuser, but I am not comfortable writing too much detail about those kinds of things involving Sophia. We might see more with Carol, but she's an adult. Therefore, it might be mentioned (or not), but I won't be using it too much as a plot point.**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. I was able to get this one out. I'm not sure if there will be more before I go on "hiatus" though.**

 **For those who are concerned about Ed, I can tell you that he'll eventually be leaving this story, but part of the plan for this story is actually seeing how things would develop if Ed were part of the group. We can't really do that if he were alive just to die right away. Don't worry, it's a Caryl story and I promise you that. It's just something new for me and, perhaps, something new for you.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl and Merle had never paid for things like television. For most of their lives, they hadn't even owned a phone because the cost was too high when most of their paychecks were going to rent and food—and a decent amount was going to alcohol, cigarettes, whatever drug Merle was into at the time, and bail.

For a while, though, they'd picked up a number of channels through tinfoil wrapped rabbit ears on a television set they'd gotten secondhand. The channels were random and often scrambled, but one that came through with the most reliability was a chick's channel that showed mostly movies and long, dramatic television series where everyone spent a lot of time switching between tears and declaring themselves the happiest women in the world.

Daryl spent more time than he cared to admit watching women marry, again and again, on that channel. Sometimes they even married the same man more than once—given that he'd been abducted by aliens or she had and this fact, for whatever reason, had required them to marry again—or the same woman married a different man in one movie than she had in the movie she'd starred in just before.

Daryl felt like he'd become something of a connoisseur of weddings.

One thing he'd almost memorized by accident was the running set of vows that got recited at every single wedding that ever wiggled its way across the blurry and slightly scrambled channel. He couldn't remember the order of the words, not exactly, but he could certainly remember the gist of them. Their meaning, he figured, was more important than their order at any rate.

 _To have and to hold. To love and to cherish. To honor and obey. In sickness and in health. For as long as you both shall live._

All the vows seemed perfect to Daryl—as long as they were followed by both people and as long as they were made and followed in love. The problem, Daryl could identify, was when one person in the marriage seemed to be the only one who was dedicated to the vows. Or, even, when there was someone in the marriage who seemed determined to twist the words to suit themselves.

 _To obey_.

With two words Ed Peletier held his wife under his thumb—the same place he held his daughter by extension. She'd said that she'd be an obedient wife, and she was doing what she said. How many men, exactly, had held their wives and kids in bad situations because of those two simple words?

Hardly a soul minded obeying someone who made kind requests that were good for everyone involved—especially if they were free to make their own demands from time to time. But it didn't sit well with anyone to subject themselves to living under a tyrant.

It seemed to Daryl that men like Ed Peletier had forgotten that the vows that were made extended to them as well. It seemed to him that Ed had decided to ignore the fact that he owed, to his wife, every bit as much as she owed to him.

And it was difficult for Daryl to stomach—and always had been—to see a husband take such advantage of his wife. After all, his love was what was supposed to have led him to the place where he was. It was love that was supposed to have made him take the vows in the first place—his love for his wife, not his love for what he could force her into doing for him.

Ed Peletier didn't deserve his wife. He didn't deserve a woman who could sit on her knees at the front of a church and declare to a wooden Jesus that the only escape she could imagine from the hell in which she lived was her husband's death or her own. No man, Daryl reasoned, deserved a wife that would stay with them to the point where they couldn't imagine any peace without death.

And certainly no child deserved to live with an old man like that—Daryl knew.

Daryl gathered together those who would be going with him as he continued the search for Sophia. Walking away from the church, leading his little "group," his stomach twisted with the disappointment of not having found the girl. He worried, though he wouldn't say it out loud, that she would choose to stay hidden in the woods—that she might actively avoid them—and they might not find her because of it.

Daryl worried that, even at her age, she shared her mother's feelings that death might be better than life with her father.

But Daryl couldn't give up on her. He couldn't turn his back on the girl and he couldn't turn his back on Carol. He felt like this was something he had to do. He had to find Sophia and he had to return her to Carol—and he had to hope that some prayers got answered, even if they weren't the most in keeping with the whole forgiveness tone of the Bible.

Daryl had to be on her side because there wasn't a single other person in Carol's corner, and Carol was all that Sophia had.

They certainly couldn't count on Ed Peletier and, honestly, the less she owed to him, the better off she was. Let Ed stay stuck in the car or sitting his ass out by the RV. Let him stay there even after they'd moved on. The less he was present, the better it was for his wife and daughter.

And the better it was for him, because this wasn't a world, in Daryl's opinion, for men like Ed Peletier.

He was too afraid, and the old laws—all of them—no longer applied.

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl let out a loud whistle and waited for the anticipated rustle of the fabric. If a Walker was inside the tent, it would be at least somewhat trapped because the zipper was closed. Most of the tents they'd found were open and the Walkers had escaped all of them except one. Daryl had held the one Walker back at arm's length long enough to let Carol sink her knife into its eye socket. She'd needed his help removing the knife, but at least she'd gotten a feel for what it was like to put one of the creatures down at close range.

They hadn't found Sophia yet, and much of their search had seemed like something of a comedy of errors—or at least that's how Daryl was choosing to think of it.

Andrea had been taken down by a tree root and had _almost_ gotten bitten by a Walker because, in her moment of panic, she'd forgotten to draw her knife and kill the creature. Daryl had held back his criticism over the fact that she'd completely lost her presence of mind enough to save herself.

Lori had spent most of the time complaining that they probably needed to get back because she was worried about her son being off with Rick and Shane—and out of her sight. Daryl had held back his desire to point out to her that she usually had no problem with losing sight of her son for large quantities of time.

Andrea had been upset over the fact that Lori had been entrusted with a gun when she'd been denied her own firearm and a squabble had broken out between the two women over the whole thing. Daryl had swallowed back his desire to inform Andrea that if she were fucking both Rick and Shane, she'd probably have gotten her own gun and one to spare—if that's what she'd wanted.

And Carol had worried enough that they wouldn't find Sophia that she'd actually started getting her concerns twisted up as they dribbled out of her mouth and she'd told Andrea that she worried, now, that they _would_ find her—but they'd find her like Andrea's sister had been at the end. Daryl had simply let the two women handle it and had offered nothing more than the promise that they'd find the girl—but not if they couldn't all hold it together for more time than they were currently earning between problems.

Daryl was practically praying that Sophia was inside the tent and that was why it was zipped closed—she'd hoped the flimsy material and metal zipper could keep her safe from, or at least unnoticed by, any passing Walkers.

When he whistled a second time and there was still no rustling of the material, Daryl waved Carol over from the location where he'd left his "group" so that they were out of the way if the contents of the tent were to surprise him.

"Call out to her," Daryl said. "Tell her you here."

Carol looked at him wide eyed and didn't say anything until he nodded at her again to urge her into doing what he'd asked. Finally she spoke.

"Sophia? Sweetheart? Sophia? It's Mommy—come out, Sophia. It's Mommy," Carol called.

For good measure, Daryl added his own message. He fully intended to go in after the girl—he had to believe she was in there until proven otherwise—and he didn't want to surprise her with his presence.

"Sophia? It's Daryl. I'm out here with ya Ma. Gonna come in and get'cha if you don't come on out. It's safe out here," he said.

Daryl stepped forward and reached the tent. He carefully brought the zipper up and stood back a moment, waiting to see if there might be any surprises. He held his knife in his hand, but he kept it behind his back because he didn't want Sophia to walk out and be scared by immediately seeing the blade.

When nothing came out of the tent—girl or Walker—Daryl stepped forward and eased the flap open so that he could look inside. Immediately he knew that Sophia wasn't in the tent. The only thing that he found inside the tent was the body of what had once been a man with half of his head shot off. He'd zipped the tent up for a little privacy while he'd killed himself—nothing more and nothing less. Daryl checked the tent quickly for any signs of scavenging or disturbance. There was nothing there, though, that indicated that Sophia had ever found that particular location. Stepping back out of the tent, Daryl shook his head at Carol.

"She ain't been here," he said. His stomach dropped in keeping with the slumping of Carol's shoulders.

"What's in there?" Andrea asked.

Daryl stared at her and she clearly understood him without the need for words or poetic description.

"What if we don't find her?" Carol asked.

"Gonna find her," Daryl offered.

"But what if we don't?" Carol asked.

"Ain't even thinking about it," Daryl responded.

"I'm afraid that I can't _stop_ thinking about it," Carol said, her voice catching.

"Put it out'cha mind," Daryl instructed. "There ain't no need in thinking about it. Don't do you no good and it certainly don't help her. We're gonna find her and she's gonna be just fine."

"We're all praying she's alright," Lori said, walking up behind Carol and putting an arm around her shoulder for comfort. "We're praying that we find her today, before we get back to the highway. She'll be back with us tonight."

"I'm praying too," Andrea said. "For what it's worth."

"Not worth a damn thing," Daryl said. "None of it is. Hoping and praying—it ain't gettin' us no damn where and it ain't doin' Sophia no good. She's out here. We're gonna keep doin' what we're doin'. She knows where to find water. She'll be lookin' for food and shelter. That's what we keep lookin' at—places where she'll find food and shelter. Not too damn far from the water. We're not gonna stand around wastin' our time on hoping and praying. We ain't gonna waste our time on fightin' over stupid shit or thinkin' about what the hell we're gonna do if she don't get found. We're just gonna find her and we're gonna take her back to the highway." All of his "crew" were now staring at him wide eyed. "Fuck," Daryl muttered. "What the hell's the problem? Am I the only one Zen around here? Let's go. I can already see another tent from here."


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here. I'll be in and out whenever I can for the next little while.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl was good at identifying sounds in the woods. The woods were a second home to Daryl. In all honesty, they were more home to him than any structure had ever been. The sounds these days weren't much different than they'd been before. There was the almost constant and faint rustle of the leaves as wind passed through the branches. There was the scratchy scuffing sound of animals scurrying through the leaves that had fallen and dried on the ground. The only differences to the sounds around Daryl now and the sounds he'd known from the rest of his life were that, every now and again, he heard the heavy-footed shuffle of a Walker that wandered nearby without any care about whether or not they startled animals in their vicinity. And, every now and again, one of the members of his group let out some sound or another or raised their voices in the trailing bits of disagreements that they seemed to be carrying in abundance.

Other than the sounds of women arguing, all the things that Daryl could hear were things that he could practically ignore entirely—even the Walkers. They were background noise and nothing more. For him, the sounds around him were so natural that he could consider the woods to be almost entirely _silent_.

That was, more than likely, why he'd jumped in an almost embarrassing manner when the gunshot had cracked the silence of the woods and echoed around them like it was bouncing off every single tree in their surroundings.

Nobody else in his group, though, noticed Daryl's over-dramatic bodily response to the unexpected noise because they were all dealing with their own reactions. Immediately they raised their voices and stirred up their own din as they questioned each other about what the sound had been, what it might mean, and then let themselves give way to their panic—each choosing the manner in which they wished to panic and the subject over which that panic arose.

"It's a damn gunshot," Daryl finally said, slightly annoyed with his companions' ability to leap to the worst possible conclusions in a second.

"What if it was Rick or Shane?" Lori asked.

"Then it was Rick or Shane," Daryl said. No matter who had fired the gun, the deed was done. There was nothing he could do that would suck the bullet back up into the chamber from whence it had come.

"They're in trouble," Lori said. "They wouldn't fire a gun. Not out here. Not if there wasn't trouble."

"Then it weren't them," Daryl said. "Or they gonna have to handle it."

"We have to find them," Lori said. "Help them."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"We ain't out here to find Rick and Shane," Daryl said. "We're out here to find Sophia."

"He's right," Andrea said quickly, leaping to his defense in the same way that he might come to hers if she needed it. "They can take care of themselves. That's what they said. It's why they went off on their own."

"My son is with them!" Lori said.

It was the first time Daryl had seen a fire lit under her ass all day. She moseyed along, as they went from small abandoned camping spot to small abandoned camping spot, but she wasn't really engaged in the search for Sophia. She was little more help to Daryl than a splinter might have been—and she had a tendency to be a good bit more annoying. But at the thought that something of hers might be at risk, she seemed to snap to attention.

"They gonna take care of him," Daryl said. "You trust 'em, right? Weren't it Rick who followed Sophia first?"

Daryl saw the fire in her eyes and half of him thought better of the comment. It was an asshole comment. It was the kind of thing that didn't need to be said. It was a comment more suiting to his brother than to him, but he'd said it. The other half of him didn't regret it a bit. That half didn't miss the fact that Andrea, Glenn, and Carol—all three—had to quickly take interest in the ground to cover the snatches of amusement that turned up their lips.

"We need to get back," Lori said.

"Not quite dark enough to throw in the towel for the evening," Daryl said.

"What if they found Sophia?" Glenn asked quickly. Daryl wasn't sure if it was a sincere suggestion or if he was just defending Lori but, knowing Glenn, Daryl assumed the Korean was being sincere.

"And fired off a gun to let us know?" Andrea asked, quickly latching onto Glenn's suggestion.

Glenn nodded his head.

"It's the quickest way for them to let us know," Glenn said. "They know we'd hear it. What if they're letting us know they found her? They could be back at the highway with her."

Daryl didn't know if they'd found Sophia or not, but it seemed just as reasonable to assume that they had as it was to assume that there was no possible way that they had located the girl. Glenn was right in that they'd probably fire the gun to get their attention—no matter how risky or even how stupid such a move could be—so it meant that Daryl had to make a decision. Either he decided that they had found Sophia and abandoned the search for the day to return to the highway, or he assumed that they hadn't found her and he continued to search for her when, in reality, they might be looking for someone that was already found.

Daryl couldn't stand being out there much longer with Lori worrying like she was—already being louder about it than Carol had been since Sophia had disappeared—so he decided to haul the group back. He waved his hands at them and turned around, taking his bearings and getting an idea for the easiest way back to the highway.

"Come on," Daryl said. "Let's go. Let's go see if they found her."

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

After the unexpected gunshot, the second oddest sound that Daryl had heard since they'd left the church was the sound of thundering horse hooves. The rhythmic pounding was almost unmistakable once someone knew what it sounded like, and it wasn't that odd on its own, but it was the first time that Daryl had heard a horse in a while.

Not long after he heard the sound and identified it for himself, he saw the horse that was making it. The horse and its rider raced toward them. Daryl and his entire "group" stopped in their tracks, despite the fact that there were a couple of Walkers milling about nearby, to stare at the beast in confusion.

The rider of the horse—a young woman—took out one of the Walkers with a bat before she pulled back the reins of the animal and brought it to an almost sliding stop in front of the small group.

"Are you Lori?" The woman asked. "Lori Grimes?"

Everyone, including Daryl, looked at Lori. She couldn't have denied her identity if she'd wanted to. They'd all given her away.

"I'm Lori," she stammered out, just in case the rider hadn't figured it out for herself.

"I'm Maggie Greene," the woman said. "My father has a farm not far from here. Your husband is there. Your son, Carl, has been shot. You have to come with me. There isn't time to explain."

Lori hesitated only a moment before she rushed forward and took the stirrup that Maggie offered her to let her swing up on the horse behind her. As soon as she was seated, Glenn found his voice.

"You can't just go riding off with people you don't know!" He protested.

Daryl was in agreement with Glenn, but he figured the story had to be legitimate. If it wasn't, there was no explanation for how Maggie would have known their general whereabouts, Lori's name, or the name of the boy. Maggie Greene knew enough to make her story hold water.

"I don't have time to argue," Maggie responded to Glenn and anyone else who was listening and might be thinking about offering up some protest against Lori's galloping off into the sunset with her. "We're at the Greene farm. Head back to the highway. To the traffic jam. Backtrack a half a mile and take the turnoff there. We're a mile and a half from the exit. It's a long driveway. There's a green mailbox at the road that says Greene. The gate will be unlocked. Close it behind you when you come through. Keep the cows in."

Before any of them had time to question her directions or even confirm that they'd comprehended them, Maggie dug her heels into the side of the horse and the animal galloped off at the same high speed that it had used to get there. Daryl and everyone left in his small group watched the animal as it disappeared from sight—all of them remaining in silence until there was nothing left to be seen of the horse or either of its riders.

The feeling of surprise passed for Daryl as quickly as it had come over him. These days nothing was really able to stun him for very long. The Walker that Maggie had hit with the bat raised up from his position, apparently stunned but not killed, and Daryl raised his crossbow and shot an arrow through its brain. Before he walked the five feet to collect the arrow, he quickly reloaded, took aim, and dropped another of the Walkers that they'd seen earlier—a creature that had had ample time to attack them but had seemed to have been just as distracted by the unexpected horse and rider as they'd been.

Daryl collected his arrows, wiped them on his shirt, and reloaded his crossbow before he addressed those that were watching his every move and waiting for direction.

"We'll head back to the highway," Daryl said. "Check on Dale. Make sure he knows what's going on. See if he's heard anything about Sophia. Try to find this farm. See what's happened."

"We didn't find her," Carol said, her words escaping with a gust of air that told Daryl that she'd either been holding her breath or was desperately trying to swallow back her emotions.

"We didn't," Daryl said. "But it don't mean _they_ didn't before this happened. Don't mean she didn't find her way back to the highway. Could be there now with Dale." Daryl purposefully left off without mentioning her husband who was still, more than likely, sitting on his ass and being a pain for Dale to babysit.

"What if she isn't?" Carol asked. "We can't go to this farm. We can't leave the highway. She won't know where we are. She won't know how to find us. She'll think we left her."

Daryl nodded his head, understanding her concern.

"If she ain't there," Daryl said, "we'll send everyone on to the farm. See what's going on with Carl and Rick. Let them know what we're doing and where we are. We'll stay in the R.V. On the highway. Tonight. Look for her until sundown. Tomorrow, first light? We'll leave a note. Something she'll find. Head on to the farm and figure out what we're doing there. Keep looking for her."

Carol looked visibly relieved when she heard Daryl's plan. Maybe her relief didn't come from the plan, per se, as much as it came from simply knowing that Daryl _had_ a plan. Carol, it seemed, could manage to keep control of her emotions as long as she knew that she wasn't being dismissed entirely and her daughter wasn't being forgotten. She didn't need a lot, she just needed to know that someone was listening. She needed to know that someone cared. She needed to know that she and her daughter weren't being abandoned entirely.

And Daryl, like an unexplained gnawing in his gut that came about for a reason that was entirely unknown to him, had the absolute conviction that he would never abandon her or her daughter.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Glenn's gonna take everyone to the farmhouse," Daryl said. He was following Dale off to the back of the RV for what he already suspected was a "private conversation" about the condition of things.

"T-Dog needs to go," Dale said. "Those antibiotics you had will help him, but he's going to need more than that. Someone who knows what they're doing needs to take a look at his arm."

T-Dog was playing off his injury as much as possible. He was trying to pretend that it wasn't as bad as it clearly was. He was trying to pretend that he wasn't running a fever and that the infection in the arm wasn't growing. Daryl had taken a quick look at it, but his medical knowledge extended only far enough for him to be able to say what everyone else already knew—the arm looked bad.

The Greene woman that had come for Lori was taking her to Carl. According to what had been tossed out to them, Carl had been shot. It was fair, though possibly not a hundred percent accurate, to assume that he was being cared for at the farm and, by extension, it was possible to assume that whoever was caring for him must have some medical knowledge that might extend far enough to handle what was going on with T-Dog's arm.

"Take him with you," Daryl said. "If you can part with it, leave the RV here with us. I'ma keep lookin' for the girl until the sun goes down. Carol's worried that if we go to the farm, Sophia might come back lookin' for us and think we left her. When the sun's up, we'll figure out some way to leave Sophia a message so, if she does come back, she'll know where we are and she'll know we're still lookin' for her."

"We'd have to leave the RV anyway," Dale said. "It's still not running. She's camping here at least another night."

Daryl laughed to himself. He looked around him. The light was beginning to fail them. Night would cover over them soon enough. Those that were heading for the farm should head out soon if they wanted any light beyond their headlights to help them find the place.

Another entire day had been lost into the tapestry of the past.

"This whole day and you ain't found a hose?" Daryl asked Dale.

There was something in Dale's expression. There was something that the old man wasn't telling Daryl. Daryl wasn't going to press for the information, though. He figured that Dale would tell him whatever it was soon enough—especially if it was something that he needed to know.

"How's he been today?" Daryl asked. Dale looked relieved over the change in subject. The relief on his features was quickly replaced, though, by some evidence of his feelings. Daryl didn't have to explain to Dale who he was asking about. The old man already knew. He glanced back toward the RV. Ed had come out of the door of the RV upon their arrival, but he hadn't even made it down the steps entirely. He'd stopped at the bottom and sat back in the doorway, leaning against it like a drunk in a bar, and he'd stayed that way. As far as Daryl knew, he was still sitting there. Daryl swallowed some amusement over Dale's facial expression. He didn't even give him time to respond before he pressed a little more. "Any help scavenging?"

"The only thing he seemed to be scavenging for were coolers," Dale said.

"Food?" Daryl asked.

"Beer. Liquor," Dale responded. He shook his head from side to side like he was disagreeing with some thought that invited itself in. "As long as he kept his distance, I didn't go looking for him."

"You had other things to worry about," Daryl said. Dale looked at him with a little confusion. It was as though he had no idea what other things he might have been expected to spend his day doing beyond keeping T-Dog company, scavenging for the supplies he had heaped by the RV steps, and somewhat babysitting Ed Peletier. Daryl cleared his throat and attempted to help alleviate some of the man's confusion. "Fixing the RV," he added.

"Oh," Dale said. He nodded his head generously. "Yeah—I spent most of the morning looking for a hose that would work. The rest of the day looking for another that didn't have a hole in it."

"You think you'll get it running soon?" Daryl asked. He knew good and well that Dale had had enough time to scavenge thirty hoses that would have fit the RV—and not all of them could have possibly had holes in them that would have made them unusable.

"You think you'll find Sophia soon?" Dale responded.

Daryl licked his lips. He wasn't absolutely positive what the correlation between the two things might be, but he had a pretty good feeling of what it was.

"Prob'ly tomorrow," Daryl said.

"I expect we'll get the RV running tomorrow afternoon," Dale said.

"Can you part with it for the night?" Daryl asked.

"You're really staying out here alone?" Dale asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Carol should stay with me," Daryl said. "When we find Sophia, or if she comes back on her own, there ain't gonna be nobody she wants to see more'n her Ma."

Dale nodded his head.

"Ed's going to want to stay too," Dale said. "If Carol stays..."

 _All the more reason for me to stay_.

Daryl thought it, but he didn't dare say it. Instead, he simply nodded his agreement.

"Andrea'll have a mind to stay too, I reckon," Daryl said. "There was some— _dispute_ with Lori over a gun. Continued on most of the day."

Dale nodded his head.

"I don't think it's safe for her to have it," Dale said.

"I don't think it's your call," Daryl said. "Still—it's better not to be handing out guns until we got a chance to know everybody that's got one knows what they're doing with it. Andrea'll stay, though, that's all I meant to say."

"I'll stay too," Dale said.

Daryl shook his head.

"Better if you go on to the farmhouse," Daryl said. "Make sure T-Dog and Glenn make it safe. Let everyone know we'll be coming in the morning. Rest easy for a night."

Dale shook his head.

"My RV," he said. "My choice. I'm comfortable in the RV. I enjoy the company. I guess I'll stay for the night."

Daryl nodded. There was no use in arguing with the old man. He wouldn't get anywhere and the light was steady failing them. There wasn't really time to waste in trying to make Dale go to the farm when it didn't really matter anyway. If the place was safe—and they weren't just walking into a trap—Glenn and T-Dog would be fine going on their own. If the place was a trap, there was really relatively little that Dale could do to save them if they were already as good as lost.

And, though he wasn't going to admit it, Daryl thought he might appreciate the added buffer.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Dale snored, but Ed snored louder. Drunks seemed to have a particular kind of snore that grated on Daryl's nerves even more than just the regular sounds of deep sleep.

Still, at least if Ed was snoring, it meant that he wasn't running his mouth. Daryl had heard all he could stand of the drunken man's ramblings before Ed had finally passed out in the bedroom of the RV. He'd gone in there, grumbling the whole way about some thing or another that wasn't to his liking, and he'd fallen asleep before he was properly in the bed. He hadn't offered the mattress to either of the women in the RV, and he certainly hadn't offered it to Daryl or Dale.

To save them both the suffering, Daryl and Dale had put Andrea and Carol on "watch" on top of the RV. Up there, though they were probably not as comfortable in the lawn chairs that had been found as they might have been inside, at least they were spared hearing Ed's mouth and later his snoring.

Daryl escaped the hot and overcrowded space of the RV by walking up and down the edge of the highway not far from where they were parked.

He didn't expect to find Sophia out there. He was sure that the girl was smart enough to take cover at night, but he welcomed the few moments of escape and silence. While he wandered, he worked out a plan for how he wanted to proceed with the search. He rummaged around in cars that he passed by for things he'd seen before and skipped over—mostly items that had seemed insignificant at the time but had stuck in his memory for whatever reason—and he'd found window chalk. They could use it to leave a message for Sophia. Then, when they saw the farm, Daryl could figure out its location in relation to the wooded area they'd been searching and he could begin to formulate a fresh search plan for the girl. It was more than possible that he wasn't seeing the big picture and hadn't realized, without knowing what was really around them, the most likely locations for the girl to hide.

When Daryl tired of putting together his plan and pacing the ground he'd already covered numerous times, he returned to the RV and climbed up on the roof. Andrea sat slumped in one of the chairs, her head tipped to the side, asleep. Carol sat in the other, her arms crossed tight across her chest, watching the darkness for any sign of her daughter. The glow of Daryl's flashlight caught her eyes and let Daryl know she wasn't asleep—and she hadn't been either.

"Dale an' Ed are asleep," Daryl said. "Been for a while. If you'd be more comfortable sleepin' in there..."

Daryl didn't finish the statement. He didn't really have to. Carol was already shaking her head.

"I don't think I can sleep," Carol said.

Daryl hummed at her and shined his flashlight over Andrea. The blonde didn't flinch. She wasn't faking it. She'd fallen hard asleep. It was possibly the best sleep she'd had in a while, which was funny given the fact that Daryl was sure it wasn't too comfortable to be sleeping in a lawn chair on the roof of an RV.

"She sure ain't havin' a hard time sleepin'," Daryl mused. He clicked off his flashlight to save the battery. He could see well enough in the dark to handle anything that needed handling on the roof and, though he'd scavenged some batteries, he didn't want to be wasteful with their supplies. "Her neck's gonna let her know about it in the morning."

Carol was quiet for a moment. Daryl knew she wasn't nodding off, though. Her position hadn't changed. She was just as wide awake as she had been. He found a seat on the roof and she broke her silence to try to offer him her chair, but he quickly refused it.

"Every time I close my eyes," Carol said, "I see her. She's right there. Just in front of me. I can almost reach her. But every time I try to reach her she's just...out of reach."

"Dreams are funny," Daryl said, not sure what else to say.

"They aren't dreams," Carol said. "I'm awake. More like visions."

"More like your mind gettin' the best of you," Daryl said.

"What if we don't find her?" Carol asked.

"Tomorrow," Daryl said.

"You said that yesterday," Carol responded quickly.

Daryl laughed to himself at the quickness of her reply and the fact that he'd already thought about that fact himself.

"Might say it again tomorrow," Daryl said. "But we're gonna find her. She's settled somewhere. Safe and waiting. Maybe scared to come out."

"Scared of the Walkers," Carol said. The words came out sounding like they were caught between being a question and a statement. Daryl cleared his throat. He hummed at her.

"Scared of the Walkers," he echoed. "Just—scared."

"Scared of Ed," Carol said.

Daryl wasn't sure, at all, whether those words were meant to be a question or a statement. He didn't dare to respond to them either. He simply sat and twisted the strap of his flashlight around his fingers.

"I've always tried to protect her from Ed," Carol said, as much to herself and sleeping-Andrea as to Daryl. "I've tried to keep her safe from him. But Sophia's a smart girl. She hears things and she sees things. If I lie to her? She knows I'm lying." Carol sighed. "She's always been a smart little girl."

Daryl swallowed back against the something that felt like it had found a way to get lodged in his throat. He cleared his throat again to try to clear out his tightened airway.

He didn't know what he should say to her. He didn't know what was appropriate to say. He didn't actually know what he would _be able_ to say. He chose to go with the safest thing that his brain had to offer him at the moment.

"That's how I know we'll find her," he said. "Smart kid." He cleared his throat once more and dropped his voice, unsure of his next word. "Survivor."

Carol looked at him—he saw her head move even though he couldn't make out anything about her expression in the darkness—and then she returned to watching the landscape around her like she could see through the cover of the night. She nodded.

"She is," Carol said.

 _Comes by it honest_.

Daryl thought it, but he didn't say it. Instead, he simply changed the subject and searched for a way to make himself more comfortable on the roof.

"Close your eyes even if you don't sleep," Daryl said. "You gonna need your rest."


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Hi there! I have another chapter for you.**

 **This chapter (like many) comes with an Ed warning. Nothing too detailed, but there is mention of domestic abuse (not in progress, just mentioned from the past).**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl was sure that Sophia, should she return to the highway, would see the note that they'd left for her scrawled in large letters across the windshield of a Mustang that was parked almost exactly where Carol remembered her daughter going over the rail. They'd left supplies for the girl too—blankets, food, and water—and Daryl, himself, had made sure that the Mustang was cleared out so that she could take refuge there to wait for them.

Part of Daryl doubted that the girl would return to the highway simply because she'd failed to backtrack to that location before. He thought that, maybe, she no longer saw the location as safe. He was almost positive that when he found her—because he had to remain positive that he _would_ find her—he'd locate her at some distance from the highway. The other part of him wanted to believe that finding her could be as simple as waiting for her to show up.

Whether she showed up or she didn't, though, they'd done everything possible to let her know that she hadn't been forgotten and she hadn't been left behind—they'd return for her. Daryl had promised Carol that they _would_ return, every day, to the highway. He didn't plan for them to stay there, since it was pretty much out in the open, but they could come by daily to make sure that Sophia hadn't wandered back.

The morning had seen Daryl and Carol taking a final quick look around for the girl and preparing the Mustang as something of a beacon for her while Andrea had continued to scavenge cars nearby and pack anything she found into the RV. It had seen Dale tinkering with the RV's engine while Ed walked around grumbling about things that nobody listened to and nursed a hangover that, in Daryl's opinion, served him right. Daryl, for his part, had done his best to keep Carol busy so that she simply wouldn't hear Ed's insistence that the whole thing was stupid and they were wasting their time leaving any kind of note for Sophia.

Ed had given up on his daughter, but Daryl had a gut feeling that he'd done that long before the girl had gone missing. Judging by what he saw of Ed, Daryl wondered if it hadn't happened before Sophia had even been born.

Daryl didn't point out that the RV, almost miraculously, was repaired a mere ten minutes after he told Dale that it was about time they looked into moving out and heading for the Greene farm to join the others. Whether or not Dale admitted it, Daryl knew that the old man had sabotaged his own vehicle but he wasn't going to push the man into explaining himself.

The RV could be tricky and that's all there was to it. It was fine if it remained between Daryl and Dale that the old man could be far trickier than the vehicle ever would be.

The Cherokee that Ed drove and the RV were the only vehicles that had been left behind the night before. It didn't take Daryl the full ten minutes that it took Dale to finish with the RV to hotwire a truck that wasn't too caught up in the traffic snarl on the highway. With Andrea in the passenger seat, the Cherokee behind him with Ed and Carol, and the RV trailing behind them, Daryl followed the directions that had been left for them to find the farm. It wasn't as easy to find as it had been made out to be, but it wasn't impossible either.

"That's the mailbox," Andrea said, leaning up toward the dash to get a better look and pointing. Daryl slowed the truck from a crawl to a stop. "Gate's closed."

"S'posed to be," Daryl said. "Hop out. Open it. Close it after everyone's through?"

Without saying anything, Andrea opened the truck door, hopped out, and walked toward the gate. Daryl watched her, scanning the area around her to make sure that he saw no Walkers seemingly popping out of nowhere, and then he waved at her to move out of his way when the gate was open. He pulled into the gate and pulled his truck off the driveway, leaving space for the other vehicles to creep in. Daryl watched as the Cherokee passed him. Carol stared straight ahead out of the windshield in front of her. Ed appeared to be speaking, and Daryl was at least a little grateful that he didn't have to hear whatever the asshole had to say. The RV creeped through next and followed the Cherokee up the drive. Dale slowed and made eye contact with Daryl. Daryl gestured backward with his head to indicate that he was waiting on Andrea and then he threw a hand up at Dale to wave him on. When the RV had fully passed inside, Andrea closed the gate behind them and Daryl waited until she was seated in the passenger seat to pull forward and follow the others up the long driveway to the farmhouse.

They were in the right place. That much was immediately clear. The rest of their vehicles were there and, though nobody was outside to greet them when they pulled up—all of them staying in their vehicles for a moment—the door opened as soon as all the engines were killed and the young woman who had taken Lori Grimes stepped out on the porch in the company of an old man who looked like Santa Clause if he were to retire and take up the vocation of farmer.

When Ed finally opened the door on the Cherokee, the first sign that any of them intended to actually get out and get to know the new people around them, Daryl spoke to Andrea.

"It's time," he said. "Let's go."

Andrea didn't say anything to him. She simply followed his lead and got out. Daryl got out of the truck and walked around to the front of it. Dale stood by the RV. Ed stood by the front of the Cherokee and Carol stood with her arms crossed across her chest right by the door that she'd just closed. Andrea joined Daryl and stood beside him.

All of them stared at the old man who descended the steps like he wasn't in any hurry at all, his expression letting them all know that he was less than thrilled with their presence there.

"You can't leave that parked there," the old man said to Dale, gesturing toward the RV.

"I'm happy to move it," Dale responded. "I wasn't sure where you wanted me to park it."

"Nowhere," the man said. "But as long as you're here, you'll park it over there. That clear area between the trees. You can set up camp there." The man looked at all of them, then, scanning his eyes over the small crowd of them. "Your friends are inside. You can help them set up a camp tonight. They informed me that your gear is in the RV?"

"We've got a couple a' tents," Daryl said. "Food. Supplies. It's in the RV."

"You can set up camp over there," the old man repeated, gesturing once again to the cleared area that he'd selected for them. "I won't turn you away while the boy's in a delicate condition, but don't get comfortable here. I won't have you staying here either. Not as soon as he's able to move on."

Daryl laughed to himself and leaned a little closer to Andrea. He didn't want his voice to carry any farther than the blonde.

"I don't think I ever felt so damned welcome in my life," he muttered.

Andrea cleared her throat to keep from laughing and turned the throat clearing into a fake cough which she stifled with her hand.

"That house looks big enough for everyone," Ed pointed out.

Daryl winced. Although, for the first time since he'd known the man, he agreed with Ed, he also knew it wasn't up to them to decide where they stayed. The farm belonged to the old man. He could tell them to sleep wherever he wanted. The truth of the matter was that he didn't have to offer them anything at all. It would be unfair and cold if he were to turn them out, but he didn't know them and they didn't know him. The old man, honestly, didn't owe them the sweat off his wrinkled old ass. And, if he was taking care of Carl, he was already giving them far more than he had to.

"We'll be fine set up in the field," Daryl offered to soothe over the expression that crossed the old man's face.

Dale caught his eye from where he was standing and nodded his head before he spoke.

"I'll move the RV and we'll get the tents set up," Dale said. "Get everyone out of your hair."

"There are several wells on the property," the old man said. "We've got the second well over there shut off. Don't use that one. There's a well in the pasture, there, that you can use though. It'll provide you with more than enough water for the time that you'll be here."

"Dale Horvath," Dale said, practically interrupting the old man's words.

"Beg pardon?" The man asked.

"I'm Dale Horvath," Dale said. He offered a hand in the man's direction and stepped forward two steps to promote closing the distance between them. The man stepped forward, then, and shook Dale's hand. "That's Carol and Ed Peletier. Daryl Dixon and Andrea Harrison."

Ed was the only one that hadn't somewhat waved or gestured when Dale introduced him to the old man that would be their host.

The man backed up and looked them over again, this time from a closer distance. He gestured in Daryl and Andrea's direction.

"Married?" Hershel asked.

Andrea laughed. Daryl didn't think it was that damn funny, but he caught the laugh from Andrea in spite of himself. He shook his head.

"No," he said. "We ain't married."

"You're not sharing a tent," the old man said. "I'm a Christian man and this is a Christian farm. As long as you're on my land, you'll live by my rules."

"Weren't plannin' on it no way," Daryl informed him. "It ain't like that. Didn't catch your name."

"Hershel," the old man said. "Hershel Greene."

Hershel stepped toward Ed and Carol and clearly examined the two of them more closely. Daryl could see Carol grow uncomfortable under the examination and she turned her head to the side, taking a sudden interest in the ground. Ed didn't buck. He simply stared smugly back at the old man.

"What happened to you two?" He asked. Carol looked at him, then, but she didn't say anything. "Were you injured?"

Daryl's stomach twisted. Immediately he realized what Hershel Greene was questioning. It was something that rest of them had simply started to take for granted. Ed's face was still healing from his altercation at the rock quarry. It was several shades of green and purple. Carol, too, wore the same colors, here and there, where bruises Ed had left for her were still taking their time in disappearing. As far as Daryl knew, there weren't any fresh marks on her skin, but Hershel wasn't used to seeing what was still healing.

Ed sucked his teeth and then laughed low in his throat.

"Shit you don't know is that some of the people in this group? They turn into damn violent maniacs when things don't go the way they think they should," Ed said.

Daryl knew that Ed was referring to the beating that he'd endured. What he was forgetting, more than likely, was that he was certainly pretty high up there on the list with the most violent among them. He wouldn't mention that, though. Men like Ed never saw their faults. They were too busy searching out what they could condemn in others.

Daryl turned away for a moment, not wanting to see Carol's face when Hershel stepped in her direction to look at her marks a little more closely. Carol preferred for people not to mention what happened to her. Most people in her position preferred that. Daryl didn't want to see evidence of how she felt crossing her features.

"I won't stand for that," Hershel said. "I won't stand for violence on my farm. If you're going to be engaged in that kind of behavior? You can leave now. I don't want that here."

Ed started to say something and, in light of what was going on, Daryl couldn't stand it. The first word out of his mouth was innocuous, but it sounded like screeching train brakes to Daryl's ears. Daryl interjected and spoke over him, wanting to at least make Ed's words disappear if he couldn't make the man vanish entirely.

"We don't want violence neither," Daryl said. "At least—most of us don't."

"And we don't want to leave," Andrea added.

"Then I would suggest that you have a talk with whichever of your friends doesn't feel the same," Hershel said. He looked straight at Daryl. Daryl nodded his head. He wasn't sure if Hershel suspected him or if he was simply choosing him to say something because he'd spoken up. Either way, it didn't matter.

Ed laughed, drawing Hershel's attention back to him, his voice grating on Daryl's nerves once more.

"Nobody wants it," Ed said. "But—sometimes? Things happen. Sometimes? They've got to happen."

Daryl stared at Ed. Ed glanced at him and Daryl wondered if he could actually glare at the man hard enough that he'd _feel_ it.

"That much is true," Daryl said, directing his words at Ed and not at Hershel. "Sometimes—things happen."

Ed shifted his weight, but he didn't take his eyes off Daryl for a moment. Daryl wasn't intimidated by his stare, either, and he returned it as hard as he could until Ed finally gave up and found himself something else to look at.

"It better not happen here," Hershel said. "Not on my farm. You can move all this now. I have things to do."


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. Following the plans I've got, we've still got a lot to go in this story, so there's still a lot to unfold.**

 **A warning for some mention of/hinting at domestic abuse. There's nothing graphic at all.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

They'd been there so little time and already Hershel's "family" was down a member. The man, Otis, had died on a run with Shane—a run from which Shane returned slightly injured. Daryl couldn't say for sure how things had gone down on the run, since he obviously hadn't been there, but he could easily say that he wasn't buying Shane's story—or at least he wasn't paying too much for it. The man didn't tell the story quite in the way that someone went about telling a true story. It was too detailed. He remembered it too well. The pieces fit too cleanly together. Daryl couldn't put his finger on what it was, but something wasn't quite right. Still, Daryl had no intention of calling Shane on the whole thing one way or another. He had lost no love over the man who'd been killed and he wasn't really that concerned with Shane or anything that happened surrounding the man.

And right now, Shane was part of the unholy trinity that was worrying over Carl.

Things were supposedly touch and go with Carl. The boy had been shot by Otis—the very man that had now, in one way or another, given his life for the act—and Hershel had removed the bullet. The operation done in a bedroom of the house, however, wasn't as simple as it seemed when explained. There were a lot of factors that would influence whether or not Carl pulled through and healed from his experience.

Rick, Shane, and Lori were all three worried sick over Carl. They were so concerned over the boy that it took all three of them to stand vigil over him. They loitered inside the house—since Daryl could be sure that the old man wasn't actually allowing them to _sleep_ inside—and they left the rest of the group to set up everything for the makeshift camp that would be their home until they were "whole" again and could move on—or until Hershel finally kicked them off of his property.

Daryl didn't mind setting up the camp. He was a little more experienced with the tents than his companions were, so he went around helping those that needed and wanted his help. There was a tent for Rick and Lori and there was a tent for Shane, but Daryl didn't know that they'd ever sleep in them. In addition, Ed and Carol had a tent that Ed had insisted on setting up himself, even if he wasn't sure what he was doing, and Glenn had a tent that Daryl had helped him with after they'd set up the extras for those who were keeping close to the ailing boy. Daryl also set up T-Dog's tent since he thought it best that T-Dog let his arm heal as it was and didn't risk injuring it when there was no need for it. Andrea and Dale would stay in the RV for the time being and, since Hershel could have easily been convinced that Dale was Andrea's father, Hershel let that sleeping arrangement slide.

Daryl's tent was just outside of the thick of things, but close enough to everyone else that he could hear them if anyone was to need his assistance and, in theory, they could hear him if he were to require their help—not that he imagined he would be calling out for help any time soon. The farm, as far as Daryl could tell, seemed relatively safe and quiet. All of them had created, together, a veritable shanty town in the area designated to them as free for their use. By the time the sun went down, Carol had fed them all from food cooked over a small fire and nearly everyone had retired to spend their evening as they pleased.

When Daryl found that he couldn't sleep, he left his tent and walked a short distance away to relieve himself in the pasture where he doubted anyone would be bothered by him emptying the contents of his bladder. From where he stood in the pasture, he could see a few lit windows in the farmhouse from lamps or candles burning inside. People were still stirring there. Rick, Lori, and Shane hadn't come out to check on the progress of their tents as far as Daryl knew. On his way back to his tent, he took the long way around and walked around the RV. Inside all seemed quiet. Andrea and Dale were, undoubtedly asleep. Glenn's tent was quiet and dark as well. Nobody stirred in T-Dog's tent, though Daryl could hear some faint sounds of snoring issuing from within. The only tent that wasn't giving off signs of a peaceful night was set a little bit away from the group in the opposite direction from Daryl's tent.

Daryl had always been the kind of person that could look the other way and ignore what was going on with other people. He was better at it than his brother had ever been, but it was his brother that had taught him to keep his nose to himself—as Merle so eloquently put it. It wasn't his business and he stayed out of that which wasn't his business. People didn't usually take well to others minding their business—Daryl included—and sometimes their reactions to a little too much interest could be, to say the least, dramatic.

It was better to avoid confrontation, especially if that confrontation had a good chance of not ending well.

But Daryl found himself feeling tugged toward the tent by something invisible and inexplicable. He actually had to fight himself to keep from walking over there, unzipping the damn door, and dragging Ed Peletier out by his ear as though he were nothing more than a ridiculous, bratty child who was having a temper tantrum over nothing.

The sounds coming from the tent were muffled, but they were the kinds of sounds that were so ingrained in Daryl that he could hear them even when they were barely imperceptible.

Ed was fighting with Carol. And, mostly, what that meant was that Carol was silently present in the tent while Ed went on about whatever the hell it was that had crawled up his ass and gotten lodged there since suppertime.

Still, Daryl knew good and well that if he were to go over to the tent, it wouldn't end well. He'd drag Ed out, Ed would retaliate, and they'd end up locked up. Maybe they'd fight until they'd accidentally knocked down every tent in the shanty town. Maybe they'd fight until Hershel Greene came out with a shotgun and decided to end things himself despite his proclaimed dislike of violence. Maybe they'd simply get the entire group run off the farm and they'd be the reason that people were taking turns, again, keeping watch all night instead of sleeping.

No matter what happened, though, one thing was certain. If Daryl and Ed locked up, Daryl would either have to kill the man or face the fact that he'd signed a promissory note from Ed to Carol.

In the end, it would be Carol that suffered the most out of the whole thing—no matter what Daryl did.

Feeling unable to do anything about whatever was happening in the tent, but feeling equally unable to simply listen to the sounds of Ed bitching and moaning about every damn thing that he figured was wrong in the world and, inevitably, was Carol's fault, Daryl returned to his tent. When he got there, though, he didn't go inside. Instead, he tore down the makeshift structure, gathered up what he could carry, and took his tent a great distance from the others.

He figured that Hershel Greene wouldn't mind him taking refuge in the cow pasture, and he found the animals that occasionally lowed and bellowed to be much better company than Ed Peletier.

By the time Daryl returned to his abandoned spot for his sleeping bag and few personal belongings, there was some stirring at the farmhouse. Hidden underneath the cover of darkness, Daryl stood and watched to see what might be happening. Rick, Lori, and Shane all three stepped out onto the wooden porch, but none of them made moves to head toward the shantytown of tents. None of them even seemed to notice that their so-called companions were even present and accounted for. They talked among themselves, exchanging awkward embraces, and Daryl stopped watching them because he realized he had as little interest in the three of them as they had in anyone that wasn't on that porch or in that house.

Heading back to his new "home" on the metaphorical range, Daryl considered what would happen the following day.

He could count on the fact that Rick and Shane would abandon the search for Sophia. They both wanted to be Carl's old man and Lori's love interest, so neither of them would dare to leave the boy's side lest it cost them some ground with Lori. If they did leave it, they wouldn't be going far—and Sophia Peletier wasn't going to be found hiding on Hershel Greene's farm. If she'd been there, he probably would have run her off.

Daryl couldn't count on either of the men to help him look for Sophia. The only comfort in regard to that, really, was that both men were cops to their cores. It meant they did a lot of planning and a lot of talking, but they had relatively little follow through. Daryl was losing a few pairs of eyes, but he really wasn't losing any brains in the operation.

T-Dog was still too sick to look for Sophia and Dale was too old to be dragged around the woods. Glenn was enthusiastic about helping, but he had really no idea what to do. Andrea and Carol, honestly, were in the same boat with Glenn. They'd gladly grab a weapon and follow Daryl into the swamps if that's what he asked them to do, but he'd put as much effort into keeping them safe as he would in doing anything else.

If anyone was going to find Sophia, it was probably Daryl.

Her old man, after all, surely wasn't going to go looking for her. And everyone either lacked ability to really help too much in the search or lacked interest altogether. After all, Carl had been injured—and it took the attention of nearly everyone to make sure that he pulled through a gunshot wound under the care of at least a semi-trained professional.

Sophia, though, was on her own in more ways than one.

The girl's mother loved her, and Daryl had no doubt of that, but her mother was just one woman—one woman who hadn't been taught how to find her daughter in a world full of the walking dead. Her mother was a woman who could barely get ten feet from her tent without running the risk of pissing off her husband who spent more time pissed off about things than he spent any other way.

Her old man wasn't worth the salt in his sweat, and he didn't give a damn about his daughter. That much was obvious. He wouldn't spend a quarter of the time looking for Sophia that he spent looking for the next bottle he'd pull a draw from.

And most of the other people in the group that had the potential to really bring something to the search instead of simply following Daryl's lead—including the man who had left Sophia alone in the woods to get herself back to the highway—had almost seemed to forget she was missing.

After all, Sophia wasn't Rick's daughter and she wasn't the golden plated offspring of Lori's apparently golden pussy.

Sophia was just Carol's daughter.

And right now, she was just a little girl that was lost somewhere in the woods—probably scared, hungry, and missing the love of the one person she knew gave a damn about her—and she was hoping for salvation. She was hoping that someone would come for her. She was hoping that someone would find her—even though some of them seemed reluctant to even look.

Daryl sat outside his tent until he heard the first sounds of Dale stirring around and he heard the RV door swing shut as Dale, more than likely, stepped outside to start his morning. The old man was always the first of them up if he ever slept at all. His comings and goings were a good indication to Daryl that he'd been up a lot longer than he intended.

Daryl crept back into his tent, quietly, and closed his eyes to steal a few minutes of sleep. That would be enough to stop the burning in his eyes and keep him up for a while. He'd sleep soundly the coming night, and even more soundly if he could finally get inside the head of a twelve year old girl and bring her home.

Carol—even though she was surrounded by warm bodies—was every bit as alone in the world as her daughter was. But the sun would be up soon, and Daryl's determination was renewed to make use of the day to bring the two of them back together.

Sophia wasn't Lori's child, and that made her less important to some of their group, but strangely enough, it only made her more important to Daryl.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Warning for mention/musings of domestic abuse.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

When Hershel Greene and his family looked at Carol, they did so like they were trying to read a book that was a written in a language they had no possible way of understanding. Their brows furrowed. They leaned closer to her. They studied her face in a way that made her want to close her eyes so that she didn't have to see them. They didn't know her. They didn't know her situation. They hadn't figured her out.

They were studying her so that they could decide how they felt about her, one way or another, and then they could simply forget about her. She was only as interesting to them as the mystery she held.

The ones who knew Carol well looked at her differently. They mostly looked at her with a sort of pity in their eyes that she hated to see. She hated knowing that they looked at her and all they saw was this woman who was worthy of their pity. She hated that they pitied her for her relationship with her husband. They pitied her for being married to a man like Ed. They pitied her for what had happened with Sophia.

They pitied her for a life that she couldn't escape and, honestly, for even having that life in the first place.

They didn't understand how she'd gotten there. They didn't understand that she was still a complete and three-dimensional woman. She was a woman with an abusive husband, yes, but she was more than that. She was still just as much as any of them, and their pity didn't do anything for her.

Pity, alone, never helped anyone.

Ed hadn't always been this way. Or, really, maybe he _had_. But things had changed a lot since the beginning. If he'd been this way, just the way that he was right now? Carol never would've married him.

But their pity didn't leave room for them to see that.

When she'd married Ed Peletier, they'd both been young. Looking back, they'd been too young to get married. Neither of them had really been ready for it. Maybe that was part of the problem.

Sometimes Carol forgot, because of the way that he was now, that she'd once loved her husband. She'd found him funny and charming in an odd sort of way. He'd been her first boyfriend and she'd started dating him in high school. He'd been on the football team and she'd nearly passed out the first time that he'd spoken to her because she'd been such a wallflower that she'd found it impossible to imagine that someone like him might notice her.

They'd almost had the ideal high school romance in Carol's mind. Nearly everything had been exactly as she'd thought it should have been. He carried her books and bought her food. He was, at times, overprotective and a little controlling of who she spent her time with, but Carol had seen that as a sign of his love. It was a sign that he was so crazy about her that he couldn't stand the idea of sharing her with anyone else—and that just made her heart flutter at the time. He'd stolen kisses from her and taught her the joys of making out. He'd respected her at the time, too, because he'd never pushed her beyond the boundaries she chose for their sex life. She was saving herself for marriage. She was saving herself for _Ed_.

The half karat diamond ring that he'd bought her during her senior year had been the most beautiful ring that she'd ever seen. The wedding that they'd had was small and quaint, but it was every bit as beautiful as a magazine wedding in Carol's mind. Their first house had been a one bedroom starter and Carol had hung their wedding picture on the wall the first day they'd moved in together.

Now Carol remembered her entire marriage as a nightmare. She recalled it as one long string of ever-worsening abuse and disrespect. But if she sat and thought about it—really thought about it—there had been good times. In the beginning, they were still living off the high of being newlyweds. In the beginning, they were still dreaming of a future that looked exactly like something that black and white television would have sold to their viewing audience.

The first time that they moved, putting distance between Carol and everyone she'd counted on as a support group, Carol had seen it as a good thing. She was Ed's wife and, as his wife, she needed to depend on him. He needed to depend on her. That was the way that a good Christian marriage was meant to function.

And the first time that he'd punished her for going against his will? She'd accepted it. She was his wife and, as his wife, she was meant to honor and obey him. Making decisions about their home and life without him—like taking the job that he didn't think she should have—wasn't obeying him. She was his wife and his ideal was that his wife shouldn't work. She had to respect that. She didn't even think of it as being controlling back then. Not at first. Not all at once.

But things had somehow gotten out of Carol's control. It hadn't happened all at once—nothing ever did. Not the way other people seemed to think. The abuse hadn't come in an avalanche of beatings. The first fight wasn't one that sent Carol to the hospital. The first fifty, honestly, probably had done relatively little damage.

And, like everyone suspected when they looked at her with pity, Carol _had_ excused it for a long time. Ed was stressed. He had a lot on his shoulders. He was the man of the house and the breadwinner. Every time she suggested going back to work, that took away a little of his manhood. Every time she complained about money, he felt inadequate. He had a lot to deal with and he dealt with a lot of it by drinking. The drinking always made him violent. It was the alcohol, not Ed, that was behind the beatings. Ed still loved her, he was just dealing with a lot. He really didn't mean it.

He didn't mean it.

And Carol was sure of that. Everything he said and everything he did, for the longest time, Carol excused because she was sure of it. And, also, she excused it because there were moments where Ed made her think that he did love her. There were moments where he came to her as a broken man who just needed her love. He came to her begging forgiveness. He came to her and humbled himself before her, begging her forgiveness.

Carol knew what it was to crave forgiveness, so she forgave.

She wasn't, as the people who looked at her with pity seemed to believe she was, entirely naïve. She was a woman who loved her husband. She was a woman who had made a vow before God to stand by the side of this man that she'd chosen for better or worse. She was a woman who respected that vow.

Carol was a woman who loved her husband enough to forgive him his transgressions.

There came a day, however, when Carol no longer loved her husband. She didn't remember when that day had come to pass, exactly. She didn't remember the date and the hour. She didn't even remember the exact reason that she had stopped loving Ed. It was simply that she realized, somewhere along the way, that she no longer loved Ed.

And she accepted, because it was true, that Ed Peletier didn't love her.

Once that day had passed, Carol wasn't ever really sure if Ed had ever loved her. Once that day had passed, Carol wasn't sure if she'd made up every good thing that had happened between them. Once that day had passed, the memories that Carol had of her life with Ed were all clouded over like they'd only happened in a dream. She remembered, then, her marriage as one long nightmare that she hadn't been able to wake from. She remembered nothing but the horrors of their life together.

And Carol no longer forgave Ed for his transgressions because Ed forgave her for nothing and blamed her for everything.

But by that time, it was too late. By that time, Carol was so deep into things that she didn't know how to get out. She had no real discernable skills that would get her a job that would earn her enough money to take care of herself and her daughter. Ed would follow her wherever she went if she tried to leave. He wouldn't let her go. He'd never let her go. And Carol had nowhere to turn for help. Her parents were gone. Her family was alienated from her. They barely knew her, and they didn't know the woman she'd become. The people she'd once called friends had forgotten her or given up on her. Everyone had moved on and they had lives of their own. By that time, everyone looked at Carol with pity and little else. She hadn't wanted their pity. Their pity didn't help her at all.

And the lack of love that Carol felt for Ed quietly turned to something stronger. It turned to a dislike for the man that left her wishing that he never came home. It turned to something like hatred that left her thinking that she and Sophia would be so much better off if he simply never came home.

Then Carol would simply be the grieving widow and she could move on. She would have kept her promise to God and to the man that she married, and she would have been a faithful wife through all those years, but she would be free from Ed. She and her daughter would be out from under him. They would be away from his cruelty. Together, they would grow.

But Ed never died. Not even when the world ended.

And Carol was starting to doubt if he ever would.

One thing was sure, though. Carol Peletier no longer loved her husband. She no longer even felt pity for him. Now? The only emotion that was in Carol's chest when she thought of Ed was an icy cold chill of anger and resentment for all that he'd taken from her. And, as much as she didn't like to admit it, there was a burning hatred for the man who had probably never loved her, but had chosen to rob her of her life anyway. There was hatred there for the man who had never loved his daughter.

There was absolute disgust inside of her over the fact that Ed slept soundly even though he fully believed that his daughter was dead.

He didn't care. Ed thought Sophia was dead and he didn't care. The only thing that he cared about—and the only thing that really seemed to make him mad at the moment—was that they hadn't been invited to sleep in the farmhouse. They hadn't been invited to sit at Hershel Greene's table. Ed was mad because he believed that it was Carol's fault, too. If she'd had the sense—and somehow the magical ability—to hide the pea-green bruises that dotted her skin, Hershel might have invited them inside instead of leaving them to sleep in a tent when Ed, who was so much more important than everyone else there, wasn't fond of the outdoor lifestyle they'd been leading. He might have given them something better to eat than what they had.

Ed Peletier believed his only child was dead and he was angry. Except he wasn't angry over the loss of his daughter. He was angry over the perceived loss of a bed that had never been his to begin with and a meal that he might have never been offered.

Carol didn't know if Sophia was alive or dead. She truly didn't know one way or another. She wished she could have unfailing faith that her daughter was alive, but she simply couldn't. She wasn't sure that Sophia knew how to even stay alive out there. Carol wasn't sure if she, herself, could stay alive out there and she was sure that there were many things she'd failed to teach her daughter.

Carol had failed her daughter in many ways. She'd failed to keep Sophia completely safe from Ed. Even if she'd managed to protect her from his hands most of the time, she hadn't been able to protect Sophia from seeing what he was capable of doing. Even if she'd hidden her own hurt from the girl as best she could, and pretended she wasn't bothered by what she suffered, she hadn't been able to hide it all from her daughter. Sophia was too young to have to know what abuse was and to have to know about the marks that it left on her mother, but Carol hadn't been able to keep her from knowing. She'd failed Sophia in that way.

She'd failed to get her away from Ed.

And she'd failed to save her on the highway. When she closed her eyes, Carol could still see Sophia running, terrified, with those things behind her. She could still feel the pressure of Lori's hand on her mouth and her fingers digging into the arm that she held. Carol failed to save her daughter and she doubted, even if she'd gone after her, that she'd have been able to save her in the woods.

Carol had failed Sophia. And she'd understand if her daughter never forgave her, even if she hoped she would.

But she still had to know. One way or another, Carol had to know whether or not Sophia was alive. She needed to see her daughter. She needed to touch her. Part of her didn't feel prepared to handle it if she found out that Sophia was lost—one of those creatures wandering around—but she still _had_ to know.

Whether or not saving her meant finding her to bring her back and try to make things up to her—to somehow try to give her a better life with whatever they might have left—or to simply make sure that she wasn't damned to live a semi-life as one of those horrible _things_ , Carol felt like she had to know what happened to Sophia. She had to know that she'd been saved one way or another.

Carol owed that to her daughter.

And even though Sophia couldn't hear her, Carol promised her that she'd save her. Even if she couldn't do it herself, she knew someone who would help her—the only person who never looked at her with pity in his eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl felt like he'd been watching them jerk her around her all morning.

She cooked their breakfast for them and she organized getting their clothes washed. She washed their dishes for them and she cleaned up around the campsite area where the majority of the tents were gathered in close proximity to one another and the RV. She could practically wait on them hand and foot, but she couldn't get much of a response from any of the group royalty.

Nobody, in fact, could get much of a response from the group royalty.

They claimed that they were studying the maps of the area, considering the information that they'd gotten from the Greene family regarding anywhere that Sophia might have ended up, and they were making a plan about the best way that they could go about dividing the people they had and sending them out to search for Sophia.

In reality, they were waiting around to see what would happen with Carl—Carl who was under the care of the veterinarian, Hershel Greene—while Sophia was still out there and still no more protected than she had been. Daryl had seconded, over breakfast, Carol's questions about what they were going to do and when they were actually going to begin searching for the girl.

He'd gotten little more response than Carol had, though. It was always the same thing—they were organizing things and figuring out a strategy. They didn't want to go after her blindly because that hadn't helped them so far. And, as Daryl was clearly told the second time that he asked them what the plan was, they didn't want him running off anywhere either. They were going to need him to help search for Sophia, when they finally got around to it, and he wasn't going to do them any good if they had no idea where he was.

Carol kept her hands busy with dishes and laundry and any other domestic task that she could think of, but Daryl wasn't given the same tasks to do. He cleaned his bow, straightened up the area around his tent, and studied the map as best he could from a distance while Rick and Shane exchanged their cop-lingo-laden conversation that didn't mean much at all to Daryl.

When Carol finally seemed to lose her ability to just stand around hoping that something would eventually be done, Rick soothed her over by sending her with Glenn and Andrea to see if Sophia had shown up at the highway. All this preparation and organization, after all, might simply end up being a big waste of time. Sophia might actually be sleeping in the car that they cleaned out for her, pigging out on peanut butter and waiting for her mother to show up.

Daryl wasn't a praying man, but he offered up his best kind of prayer that they'd find her just that way.

He knew, though, the moment that he saw the truck they'd taken crawling back down the driveway that it wasn't the case. Glenn pulled the truck over into the shaded area where they'd been given permission to park and Andrea slid out of the passenger side of the truck. She offered a hand back to Carol and Carol came sliding out after her.

That was the exact moment when Daryl got tired of holding down the piece of ground he'd pulled up to sit and wait for Rick and Shane to get their shit together.

"I'ma head that way," Daryl said. He pointed out toward the tree line where the farm faded into the woods. "See what we got. Looks like this might be the back side of that patch we was already in."

"We can't just go running off in different directions," Rick said. "We'll end up separated and lost. Then we'll waste time organizing search parties to look for our search parties. It's better if we stick to the plan."

Daryl laughed to himself, and he didn't try to hide his humor from Rick. If Rick pushed him too far, he'd let him know that it was pretty clear to him that they didn't have a plan, so they couldn't very well stick to it if it never actually came into existence.

"I think I'ma be alright," he said. "Ain't gonna get lost. Just walkin' these woods to see what the hell they look like from this side. See if—see if it seems reasonable that Sophia woulda come this way."

"Look, Daryl, it's real great that you're wanting to help," Shane said. "It really is. And we need your help. But the fact of the matter is that you're not going to do anyone any good wandering around out there. If we get too many people just wandering around, we're going to be tripping over each other. Someone could get hurt. On top of that? We won't know where everybody is to know if anybody's hurt until it's possibly too late."

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows at the man.

He'd known men like Shane his whole life. Men like Rick too. They were good enough men. They were, in all actuality, the kind of men that society praised and the kind of men that all other men were supposed to emulate. They did public service jobs and they bought kids ice cream and they petted dogs. Usually they lived in houses that were typically something like three bedroom houses and they raised up their two point five children wearing name brand clothes. They had barbecues and drank beer at the lake beside a boat that always managed to look like it had been bought the day before.

 _They were good guys. They were the kind of guys that everyone should strive to be._

But they were good guys that had to be in control. And, worse than that, they were so wrapped up in their protocols and their perfectionism that they did a great deal more spinning their wheels than they ever did getting anywhere, especially in situations like this.

And the hum hawing around and taking their time was all fine and dandy if they were talking down the drunk who'd just lost his job and wanted to run his mouth but really wasn't a threat to himself or anyone else, but it wasn't doing a hell of a lot of good for a twelve year old girl who was lost in a world full of flesh eating corpses.

"Man—you keep talkin' 'bout a plan," Daryl said. "You keep talkin' 'bout how important it is that everyone sticks to what you layin' out, but what I'm seein'? Is you ain't layin' out a damn thing. So if you got a plan that you're wantin' us to stick to? You got some routes figured out that it'd be smart for us to take? You just let me know which one you want me on and who the hell's goin' with me."

"We're still looking at where the neighboring farmhouses are in relation to here," Rick said. "We're still figuring out where she'd be most likely to go from where we lost her on the highway."

Daryl laughed to himself and nodded.

"Then you figure it out," Daryl said. "And you let me know. But right now? You're burnin' a lot of hours organizin' this search party so I'ma just go ahead and start searchin'. If you need me or if you lookin' to send someone? I'm headed for the tree line right over there. I'ma walk it. Just back an' forth. I don't got me a real detailed plan right now. I'ma just go and see if I can't see _something_. So you just mark that down on your plan, OK? Then we won't be trippin' over each other."

Daryl didn't give them time to argue with him and he didn't give them time to try to dissuade him from simply going and looking for the girl. He just started toward his tent to get his bolts.

They were right about one thing, Daryl didn't have a plan. He didn't have much of a strategy. Mostly he intended to have a look at the woods and just see how grown up they were. He thought he'd walk a little in each direction and see, simply, what he _could_ see. Could he see houses from there? Because if he could, it was possible that Sophia could see them too. Could he see the water? If he could, it was possible Sophia wasn't as far away as they thought. If she was half as smart as Daryl thought she was, she'd know to stick close to the water. She'd know not to lose it. The water would keep her alive even if she was eating earthworms and wet leaves to survive.

Daryl didn't have a plan at all, but he felt a hell of a lot better making up his plan while he searched for the girl than he did knowing he spent a whole damn day just sitting on his ass or circling around a car hood discussing what could, possibly, end up being his plan for the future.

Once Daryl grabbed his bolts, he headed back toward the RV for a moment to grab one of the canteens that he knew Dale had there and some packaged food. The canteen would come in handy if he were to find Sophia. Even if she'd been smart enough to stay close to the water, a drink of clean water would more than likely be quite welcome after some of the murky water that she'd, no doubt, been consuming. A little food, too, would go a long way in soothing over any hard feelings the girl might have. Dale didn't bother Daryl as he rummaged through one of the boxes was sitting near the front of the RV in search of what he wanted.

No one, in fact, bothered Daryl. It seemed that Rick and Shane, still working on their plan that was doing nobody any damn good, had decided to leave Daryl alone. Either they recognized the truth in his words or they simply didn't want to mess with him anymore. He couldn't give one shit either way.

The only person that approached Daryl, just as he'd found the last of the treasures that he was going after, was Carol. She followed him, not speaking, until he'd gotten to the clean well that they were using and started to fill the canteen.

"I don't know how to thank you," Carol said.

"Then don't," Daryl responded.

"I have to," Carol said. "I've been asking them all day when they thought they might start looking for Sophia and I never really got an answer."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Makes two of us," he said. He glanced at her, but he had to divert his eyes quickly back to the water. When he looked at her looking at him like that—like he was doing something important and special—his chest got tight. It got hard to breathe. He wasn't used to being looked at like that, and he certainly wasn't used to being looked at like that by a woman like Carol. It gave Daryl a sort of feeling in his chest that he wasn't used to dealing with, and he didn't want to try to become accustomed to it because, when he looked in Carol's direction, he also saw something else.

Not twenty feet away from them, wasting time around the campsite, Ed was watching them. He was sitting in a foldout chair, drinking from a canteen that he pretended held water, and he was watching them.

And for as well as Daryl knew men like Rick and Shane from a previous life, he knew men like Ed Peletier better. Daryl knew why it was that men like Ed watched their wives when they so much as took a step away from them.

As much as Daryl might want to stand and get used to the way that Carol was looking at him, and as much as he might want to enjoy simply being looked at like that by a woman like her, he knew that it wasn't a good idea. He wasn't scared of Ed Peletier—not in the slightest—but he knew that it wouldn't come back on him. If Ed got even a little taste of jealousy? He wouldn't bust Daryl in the mouth like a decent drunk. He'd pay Carol back for her imagined transgressions.

Daryl wasn't going to let that happen.

Daryl cleared his throat.

"Don't you got somethin' useful you could be doin'?" Daryl asked, forcing himself to put more bite in his tone than he felt. "The longer I'm standin' around jackin' my jaws with you, the more daylight's gettin' burned."

Daryl glanced at her long enough to see the expression cross her face before he purposefully diverted his eyes again. It wasn't anger. It was hurt or disappointment. Daryl couldn't exactly tell which since the two looked an awful lot alike to him. He hated making her make that face, but ultimately it did what he wanted it to do.

Carol offered him a softer "thanks" than before that was slightly choked out by a catch in her voice, and then she turned and walked away quickly—much more quickly than she'd walked while following him out to the well.

Daryl was sorry for his tone, but he didn't dare to offer any apology. He glanced in her direction and watched her go, but only for a second. Then he looked back in the direction of Ed Peletier. The man was watching Carol go, too, but she didn't hold his interest for long. As soon as she was busy with laundry again, Ed got up from his chair and headed back in the direction of his tent to sit and idle away time as though he had nothing in the world to be concerned with.

Daryl filled the canteen and, strapping it across his body, left everyone behind. He headed for the tree line, just like he'd said he would, following his own plan while he left the others to spend the day making theirs.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Ed/domestic abuse warning.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol avoided the tent for as long as she could. She figured that Ed would stay in there long enough to drink himself into a stupor and then he'd probably pass out. If she was really lucky, he'd stay passed out for the rest of the day and maybe even into the night.

But finally she had to enter the tent to gather up the laundry because he'd be angry if he found out that she'd washed everyone else's clothes while his own had been ignored. Carol eased open the flap on the tent and peeked inside. Ed was asleep, though he wasn't sleeping soundly. He snored when he slept soundly. As quietly as she could, Carol eased herself down to her knees and carefully crawled into the tent. She wanted to grab the clothes and get out without waking him. She gathered up everything she could see and was on her way back out when he caught her around the wrist.

Carol dropped the clothes and almost screamed out in surprise when Ed's hand wrapped her arm, but she caught herself before the sound escaped her. All that got out, beyond her control, was something that was barely more than a squeak. Ed hadn't been asleep at all. He'd been awake and he'd been waiting for her.

He tugged at her arm.

"Get your ass in here," he said.

Carol swallowed and crawled fully into the tent. She hoped that by doing what he said, she'd keep him from getting too angry. It was daylight and they weren't entirely alone. Nobody was directly beside their tent, but it wouldn't take much for someone to hear them. Carol didn't think that Ed would be too bold, but she'd learned not to underestimate him.

"I have work to do," Carol said. "I have to do the laundry to pull our weight, Ed. We have to earn our keep."

Ed didn't let go of his hold on her wrist.

"Close the flap," Ed said. Carol shook her head. "Close the damn flap!" Ed said, louder this time. Carol flinched at his yelling, but she actually didn't mind it. At least, if he was being loud, there was a good chance that someone was going to hear it. She hated to admit it, but she really wouldn't care if they managed to kill him this time. In fact, she hoped they would because, otherwise, he'd be sure she paid for it as soon as he got the chance.

"I can't reach it, Ed," Carol said. "And I really have to do things. Andrea's outside. She's waiting on me to come back with the clothes."

It was only partially a lie. Andrea was outside, but she wasn't waiting on Carol to come back with the clothes. She was near the RV with Dale. Still, there was as good of a chance that Andrea would hear them as there was that anyone else might—and maybe she'd shoot Ed out of the itch she seemed to have to fire one of the many firearms that Rick and Shane had in their possession. That was, if one of the men didn't get to Ed first.

"Close the fuckin' door, Carol," Ed repeated. He moved to allow her to move her body enough to reach the flap. Reluctantly, Carol closed the tent flap and Ed let go of her arm. She could make a run for it, but if he was serious about doing something to her it was going to happen. Running for it now would only make it worse later.

"We have to pull our weight, Ed," Carol said. "And you're still—healing. So I need to do something to earn our keep around here."

"What the hell is going on with you and that piece of trash asshole?" Ed asked.

Carol's heart stopped beating for a moment. She was sure of it. Slowly it started back up.

"What?" Carol asked.

"Don't play dumb with me, Carol," Ed said. "What the hell's going on with you and that asshole? You fuckin' him? Making a damn fool out of me?"

Carol shook her head.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Carol said. Ed's hand shot out and made contact with Carol's face before she even realized that it was coming. It stung where it made impact, but Carol knew that it hadn't broken skin. It probably wouldn't bruise. It was a light slap. It was a warning slap.

"Don't lie to me, you fucking bitch," Ed snarled, lowering his voice on purpose. He was fully aware that they weren't entirely alone.

Carol touched her face where Ed had slapped her and then she dropped her hand. She shook her head at Ed.

"I'm not lying to you, Ed," Carol said. "I'm not. Daryl is helping find Sophia. He's a good person and he wants to help. But—that's all it is, Ed. He's just helping find Sophia."

"You're a whore," Ed said. "You're a liar and you're a whore. And on top of that? You think you can do that shit up under my nose?"

"Ed—please don't start anything," Carol said. She shook her head at him. "You heard Hershel. He'll make us leave, Ed. He'll make us all leave."

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

The can of tuna was so fresh that it hadn't gone rancid yet and the heat hadn't dried out the juice. He couldn't be certain that it was Sophia that had eaten the fish, but he could be certain that _someone_ had eaten it and they'd done it very recently. Daryl looked around the kitchen for any other signs of the girl's presence. He opened the cabinet doors and checked for food. The house had been picked clean. The tuna was either the last of the food there or it had been brought there from another location.

There were at least a dozen houses on either side of the water. She could be in any of them or she might be cycling through them. Maybe there were even more that he didn't know were there yet. Still, Daryl was feeling hopeful because a couple of cans of stinking fish were the first clear signs of life that he'd seen so far.

And then he flicked open the pantry door and his heart jumped with the second best thing that he'd seen in a while.

The pantry was short. It wasn't tall enough for a grown person to stand in. If he'd wanted to enter the space, he'd have had to get down on his knees, and even then it would've been a tight fit. The shelf above the lower area would've kept him from fitting in there comfortably. But the space was just about the right height for someone who came in at Sophia's size.

And to make things even better, there was a makeshift bed in the bottom of the pantry that was made out of a couple of blankets and rags. There was a pillow in there. Someone had spent some time in there, even if they hadn't spent the night, and they'd slept there. Daryl looked at the door. They'd probably closed themselves in and slept there for a little while—and then they'd breakfasted on fish.

Daryl left the door open and walked through the house. He stopped a moment and listened, but he heard no sounds. He called out.

"Sophia?"

There was no response. Nobody called back. He didn't even hear a Walker growl at him in response.

Daryl's hopes were high, though, so he walked quickly through the house. He ascended the stairs first and quickly looked through the rooms. He hoped, maybe foolishly, to find the girl asleep in one of the beds. He hoped that she'd simply be sleeping so soundly that she hadn't heard him. He hoped he'd surprise her by waking her up from her sleep to tell her that he was taking her back to her mother.

When he didn't find her, his heart bottomed out in his chest, but only for a moment. The fact that she wasn't upstairs didn't entirely erase the hope that he felt from finding evidence of her presence downstairs. Daryl descended the stairs and returned to the kitchen. He opened the pantry door and glanced down at the makeshift bed.

"Sophia?" He called out again, his voice ringing through the house. "You in here? It's OK..."

There was no response. Daryl stood there staring at the pallet on the floor.

The house had beds to spare and there was certainly nobody sleeping in any of them. If Sophia spent the night there and wanted to be comfortable, she could've had her choice of beds before she woke to enjoy the fish she'd managed to find somewhere. She hadn't chosen to sleep in a bed, though. Instead, she'd chosen to go and get blankets and a pillow and make a place for herself in the bottom of a cabinet that closed pretty securely when Daryl pressed the door shut.

Daryl's chest tightened. The choice probably wouldn't make sense to most people. Rick or Shane—they'd probably stare at that cabinet and wonder why the hell the girl would make such a stupid choice when there were much better options available to her.

Daryl didn't have to wonder, though.

The memory came up in him like vomit rising up out of his stomach. It was something he'd forgotten entirely. It was something he'd blocked out and pushed down so deep it was like it didn't even exist anymore.

It existed, though, and his stomach twisted as his mind recalled it in vivid detail that he didn't even know was there. And now that he remembered it, he thought he recalled it even a little differently than he ever had before. It was as though, now, he could see it from the outside. He felt like he could see his own memory from a different perspective.

But it was still his memory and, though he'd buried it down pretty deep, he still remembered it quite well.

He remembered the fact that his old man had practically been allergic to the fucking kitchen. If he wasn't going in there for a beer or to harass his mother, Daryl's old man had never so much as set foot in the kitchen. The last damn place the asshole would ever think to look for him was a kitchen cabinet. There was one under the sink, too, that was large enough for him to fit for a pretty long time. It was a double cabinet and his mother would stuff him under there, shoving cleaning supplies out of the way, and close the door. If he closed his eyes, he could still remember the smell of mildew and bleach that permeated the space. He could still remember the darkness and the tiny bit of light that seeped in around the cracks of the cabinet doors. He could still remember being in there and hearing what was happening outside.

Daryl could still remember his mother's voice telling him to be very quiet. No matter what he heard, he wasn't to come out. He wasn't supposed to let his old man know that he was in there. He couldn't give away his hiding place. He had to stay there until she came for him, no matter how long that might take, because his old man would never find him there. He'd never think to look in a kitchen cabinet.

She'd close him in the cabinet even when he'd done the stupid shit that had set his old man off. Unable to find him, his old man would have to get his damn rage out some way. And she'd take it. She'd take all of it. Everything that was meant for Merle when he wasn't around. Everything that was meant for Daryl when he was tucked up under the sink in a dark little space where she wouldn't fit and his old man wouldn't look.

She hadn't been perfect, but Daryl forgave her for her sins. He forgave her for her sins a whole lot more than he forgave her old man. He forgave her more, now, because he was old enough to realize what a shit hand she was dealt.

Sophia had felt safe in the cabinet. She'd felt safer there than she'd felt in the beds.

The things she was hiding from were like creatures straight out of hell. They were rotting, animated corpses with nothing on their mind but tearing her apart and devouring her. She had to keep herself safe from them. The only damn way she knew to do that was to keep herself safe from them the same way that her mother had probably kept her safe from the other monster in her life. She probably thought that if it could keep him out, it could keep any monster out.

Her mother, Daryl realized, like his own had been dealt a shit hand. She'd been dealt a real shit hand. And there was nowhere she could run, because she couldn't fit in the cabinet and she didn't have a choice except for to stand outside the damn thing and face the monster. That was the only way to be sure that he didn't get to Sophia.

Daryl pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his face. He'd be embarrassed if anyone was there to see it. He'd pretend that he'd gotten something in his eye or he'd fake a sneeze or a cough. He'd say that the dust was bad and something was at fault for the dampness that he wiped away.

But there was nobody there and there was no reason to pretend. As badly as he wanted someone to be there—someone small enough to take refuge in a cabinet—there wasn't a single other soul there.

But she'd been there, and he was going to find her. The others could help him or they could sit on their asses and wait for pigs to fly, but he was going to find Sophia and he couldn't help feeling that she wasn't too far away.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

As Daryl made it back across the field toward the makeshift camp that they were calling home for the time being, he could see that not much had changed since he'd left. Andrea was sitting on top of the RV in a lawn chair keeping watch for Walkers. Dale was outside the RV arranging and rearranging boxes of supplies. Glenn paced back and forth across the whole of their camp looking for something to keep himself occupied. Ed sat in a chair and drank from the canteen that was practically glued to his hands. Carol kept herself busy with a million domestic tasks that she created just to keep herself occupied. And Rick and Shane, from the looks of it, were still working on the so-called plan that had eaten up most of their day.

Not a single damn thing had changed since Daryl had left even though he'd been gone most of the day.

As soon as she noticed him, Carol dropped what she was doing and darted in Daryl's direction.

"You didn't find her!" She declared, her words almost coming out almost as a wail. "Sophia...you didn't find her."

Daryl glanced at her but quickly looked away. He shook his head and looked toward Rick and Shane who were practically closing in on him from the other direction to see if he had some information. Finally he did have something to offer them.

"She ain't far," Daryl said. "Found a house. It ain't too far from here. She ain't there, but she's been there."

Carol practically launched herself at Daryl. Everyone except Ed started to close in on him to hear what he had to say. Suddenly Daryl was the center of attention and that wasn't really a position that he was wholly comfortable with.

"You found her?" Carol asked.

"Didn't find her," Daryl said. "Not yet. Found where she's been stayin' though. At least a night. She ain't been gone long. She was in the house this morning at least."

"Where was it?" Rick asked, practically launching himself at Daryl the same way that Carol had done.

"In the woods," Daryl said. "Not far from here. Straight back from here to the creek. House sits just off the creek a couple of feet. White house. Farm house. Not nearly as big as this one. Abandoned for a while."

"What about Walkers?" Rick asked. "Did you see any Walkers around?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Not really," Daryl said. "Not in the area. Killed one near the edge of the woods, but it weren't headed toward the house and it weren't comin' from that direction neither. The house was clean. There weren't no sign of Walkers there."

"If Sophia wasn't there," Shane said, "then what makes you so sure that she's been there?"

"Food," Daryl said. He shrugged his shoulders. "Couple cans a' tuna in the trash can. Can opener was left out on the cabinet. Still had some of the juice on it. Drawer was open. The tuna weren't rancid. It was fresh. It's been eat today. It ain't stayed in that house overnight or it'd smelled by now."

"Well that's just great," Shane said. "Are we going to walk around being sure that every damn can of food we find was eaten by Sophia? How do you even know it was her that ate the tuna?"

"She likes tuna," Carol said quickly. "I mean—it's not her favorite, but she likes it. She'd eat it."

"If she was starving to death," Daryl said, "there ain't much she wouldn't eat. Still, it was two cans of it. She ate pretty good."

He directed his words toward Carol and Carol alone for just a moment. He didn't know if anyone else noticed the small red place on her face, but he saw it. He didn't want to pay her too much attention, not with her asshole husband watching them, but he wanted to pay her just enough to offer her some comfort. It looked like she probably wasn't getting it anywhere else. And with as interested as she was in making sure that they all ate whenever there was anything to eat, he was sure that she'd appreciate knowing that her child was out there with something in her belly, even if she wasn't full to bursting.

"That doesn't answer how the hell we're supposed to know it was Sophia who ate the food," Shane said, irritation practically making his voice gravelly. Daryl didn't pay him much attention. He knew, by now, that Shane's overall pissy attitude had everything to do with his fucked up situation with Lori and not a damn thing to do with anything else that was going on.

"It weren't just the fuckin' food!" Daryl shot back. "There was a cabinet too. She made a bed."

"A cabinet?" Carol asked.

Daryl glanced at her. He nodded his head and swallowed. There was still something of a lump in his throat from when he'd stood looking at the cabinet. He searched Carol's eyes for a moment, trying to see if he'd see a sign of anything there.

"About this high," Daryl said, marking the height with his hand. "Had a good door on it. Kind that latches pretty good. She made a pallet in the bottom of it. Must've slept there last night."

Something did cross Carol's features. Something changed in her eyes for a split second. She didn't say anything, but she did raise her hand and cover her mouth with her fingertips for a moment before she consciously lowered her hand and did her best to erase any expression from her face.

Daryl's stomach told him exactly what he already knew—Carol had hidden Sophia before. The girl had learned to search out safe places like kitchen cabinets.

"Why would she sleep in a cabinet if the house was clean?" Rick asked.

Daryl didn't have time to explain things to Rick that the man was possibly unable to understand. He also wasn't going to take a chance with explaining them in front of an asshole like Ed. Daryl tried to communicate to Rick with his eyes, but the man wasn't following along, so Daryl simply shook his head.

"Probably looking for somewhere safe," Daryl said. "Maybe thought it was safe 'cause it latched. Don't matter. What matters is that anybody bigger'n her wouldn'ta been able to fit in there. It was Sophia. I know it was her. She slept in the cabinet and she ate the tuna this morning. She's gone from the house, but she ain't gone far."

"What about tracks?" Rick asked. "Did you try to track her out of the house?"

Daryl laughed to himself. He held back the desire to tell Rick that he wasn't an idiot and that if Rick had thought about trying to track the girl, Daryl had surely already thought about it.

"Grass there's too overgrown," Daryl said. "Found some tracks but I can't be sure about them. They don't matter no way. They headed on back down toward the water and then I lost any sight of anything. I can't swear it was her that made 'em, though, and I don't know where she went from there. She's in the area, though, and she's stickin' close to the water."

"If you can't be sure about the tracks," Shane said, "then how can you be so sure about this cabinet and the food?"

"It was Sophia," Carol offered quietly and almost mournfully. She had no way of knowing that, of course, but she believed it. She needed to believe it. Daryl believed it too.

"It was Sophia," Daryl said.

"But we can't be sure," Shane said.

Daryl gritted his teeth.

"Can't be sure it weren't, neither," Daryl growled at him.

Rick somewhat stepped between them as though he anticipated things were going to blow up and become something greater than they were already. He held his hands up to both of them to try and calm their tempers before they flared into something that was going to be a lot harder to control.

"It doesn't matter right now," Rick said. "It's a lead and it's more of a lead than we've had for a couple of days. Daryl? Can you show us on the map where the house was?"

Daryl nodded and walked over to the car hood where the map they'd been worrying over was laid out. He looked at it for a moment and got his bearings straight. Then he touched his finger down where he was pretty sure the house had been located.

"Here we are," Daryl said. "That's the creek. You can see it from the back part of the farm. Right about here? That's where the house is. There's a bunch more in the area. I ain't but one person and she might be movin' pretty steady. Still—I'm thinkin' she ain't goin' far. It's gettin' late. She'll probably be lookin' for a place to settle down before long if she's on the move."

"That's great," Rick said, looking over Daryl's shoulder at the map. "That's excellent. We'll set up a couple of groups. It's getting late. Getting dark. But we can walk out and find the house. We'll figure out a plan of attack. Tomorrow we'll split into groups and we'll spread out looking for her."

"Why tomorrow?!" Carol yelped from where she was standing, practically wringing her hands. "Why? Why tomorrow? Can't we go now? She's out there now. She's probably hungry again. She's looking for somewhere to sleep..."

Rick walked toward Carol with his hands out. He caught her arms as he closed the distance between them.

"We'll go look for her now," Rick said. "We'll look at the house and we'll try to figure out where she's probably going. We'll figure out which directions are likely. We'll look for her, but it's getting late. It'll be getting dark soon. We're going to have a much better chance of finding her tomorrow when we can see her and we're going to be better off if we're not out there with the Walkers once the sun goes down."

"If we're going," Shane said, "then we should go. It's going to take us a couple of minutes to even get everybody organized. If we wait too much longer, we won't even find the house before it gets dark. It'll end up being better to put the whole thing off until morning."

"No," Carol protested quietly. She knew they weren't going to listen to her. Daryl felt the odd tugging in his chest that he'd felt before. They weren't going to listen to her. None of them listened to her. They didn't listen to him, either.

Daryl glanced at Rick and Shane. They were having some sort of conversation over how they were going to do this. They had the best lead that they could possibly hope to have and they were just going back and forth over how they were going to handle things. They weren't going to get people out there tonight and Daryl knew it. It wouldn't be safe for all of them to go wandering around at night, either. They were too loud as a group. They'd draw the Walkers to them and, if they weren't lucky, they'd just end up bringing the damn things to the area where Sophia was hiding.

Honestly, it might be best if they waited until morning to go out as a group. Sophia wouldn't make it that far in a night. Not if she was just making it here from the highway.

Daryl watched Ed when he heard Shane speaking to the man.

"What about it, Ed? You want to go out with us? Be involved this time in looking for your kid? Or you think you're better off here making sure that lawn chair doesn't escape?" Shane asked.

Daryl's stomach churned. He wished Shane wouldn't rile Ed up. It wasn't Shane that was going to suffer the consequences of his need to be an asshole.

"It's a fuckin' waste of time," Ed said. "Whole thing is a fuckin' waste of time and energy. I couldn't think of a dumber way to waste whatever resources we've got. Not a damn one of you could stay alive out there. That kid's weak. Always has been weak. She sure as shit can't be alive. It's a damn waste of time to go out there when you're looking for a corpse. If that's all the hell you want? You can walk a couple of feet in any direction and grab the first corpse you see. The world's crawling with 'em if you ain't noticed. But you go out there looking for her? That's all the hell you're doing. Wasting your time to find another damn corpse."

Daryl glanced in Carol's direction just in time to see her walking away. She didn't tell anyone where she was going and nobody asked. She just walked, steadily, away from all of them.

Daryl looked at Ed. The man watched her walk away before he laughed to himself and muttered something under his breath. Then he turned straight in his chair once more and went back to drinking from the canteen that he was holding.

Daryl thought he was right about one thing—this was a world that belonged to corpses now, but there weren't quite enough of them in it. Daryl could think of at least one he had a real hankering to add to the already bloated numbers.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Warning for mention (nothing explicit) of Carol and Ed being together.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

In the end, the whole lot of nothing that Daryl expected to get done was exactly what got done. Nobody could seem to get their ducks in a row and slowly the day finished wasting away and gave way to dusk. Before dusk, though, everyone seemed to have already accepted that the search parties weren't making it out before morning—even Carol.

Daryl didn't know where she'd gone to, but when she came back from wherever it was she was composed. She cooked dinner for everyone as she normally would and then, when they were all gathered around the small fire pit she'd created where the cooking fire still burned, Carol disappeared from the rest of the group again. Daryl saw her head into the RV, and he saw that nobody followed her. Maybe they were giving her space. Maybe nobody knew what to say. Maybe they all knew that anything they said wasn't going to mean a thing to a grieving mother.

Daryl left everyone at the fire and returned to his tent for a little while, keeping his distance from the rest of the group. From outside of his own tent, he had a view of anything he wanted to see and he could hear most of what he wanted to hear, but he also had a little bit of space to breathe. When he saw Ed finally get up and make his way back to his tent, not bothered by the fact that his wife was still shut up in the RV likely washing dishes or something of the like, Daryl got up and slowly made his way to the RV.

If anybody saw him go inside, nobody said anything to him. Nobody asked him what he was doing.

And Daryl didn't tell anyone anything either.

Daryl opened the door and stepped inside. It took him less than a moment to find Carol. She was sitting in the bedroom of the RV, on the bed, and she was mending clothes with a needle and thread by the light of one of the oil lamps that they had.

Daryl cleared his throat to get her attention. She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. Her eyes glittered in the flickering light. Daryl would've thought they were absolutely beautiful if he wasn't sure that some of the extra shine came from tears that she was doing her best to hide from everyone.

"I thought I mighta stumbled into the wrong RV," Daryl said. "You really cleaned this place up."

"I had time. It needed it," Carol said. "I thought—maybe when Sophia comes back...I'd like to sleep in here with her." Carol looked around the space like she hadn't seen it before. "Maybe just a few nights. She'll rest better in here than she will out there."

Daryl nodded his head. He thought he understood what she wasn't saying, but he wasn't going to force her to talk about things she might not be comfortable talking about. It really wasn't necessary, and that wasn't why he'd come.

"She'll like it," Daryl said. "Looks real good."

Daryl lifted his hand and placed the bottle he'd brought from his tent on the bedside table near Carol. She looked at it and then turned her eyes back up at him.

"A flower?" Carol asked, furrowing her brows at him.

Daryl thought he saw the corners of her mouth turn up a little. He wasn't entirely sure whether she was pleased with the flower or if she was amused that he would think it was appropriate to bring her such a thing. He figured he'd better explain himself.

"Cherokee Rose," Daryl said. "Legend says that when the American soldiers were moving the Cherokee people off their land? You know, on the trail of tears? Well the Cherokee mothers were cryin' and grievin' so much 'cause they were losin' their little ones along the trail. There was exposure, disease, starvation—some of 'em just wandered off. Disappeared. Anyway, the elders asked for a sign, ya know? Said a prayer. Wanted somethin' to uplift the mother's spirits. Give 'em hope. The next day, roses just like this one started to grow wherever the mothers' tears were falling."

Carol stared at the flower. She lifted her fingers to her face and wiped away some liquid that was trailing its way down from her eyes—drops that might have sprouted more Cherokee Roses if such a thing really happened the way it did in legends.

"It's beautiful," Carol breathed out.

"Was growin' outside the house," Daryl said. "Saw it when I came out lookin' for tracks. I was hopin' I'd just pick up whatever tracks she left and—ya know—just follow her on to wherever she went. Tracks didn't do much good. Just led me back to the water. I did see the roses, though. I don't know, but—I think this one? It was growin' for your little girl. Growin' for Sophia."

Carol swallowed and nodded her head. She looked at Daryl.

"That's beautiful," she said, her voice as soft as it had been before. "Thank you."

Daryl shook his head. Her thanks made him feel odd. Her thanks made his stomach twist and knot itself up. He shook his head to refuse it because he didn't care for the sensation that it caused in his gut.

"Brung it in here," Daryl said. "Figured—you could enjoy it in here. Thought it might give you some hope. Give you somethin' to look at, at least. Dale, he ain't gonna say nothin' about you havin' a flower in here but...I didn't wanna give it to you out there."

Carol nodded her head.

"It's better that you didn't," Carol said. She sucked in a breath. "Thank you for—for knowing that, too."

Daryl didn't want to admit to Carol that he knew a lot more than she maybe thought he did about her and about her life. He didn't want to admit that he thought about her too, probably, a lot more than she thought he did.

There wasn't room for that. There wasn't time for that.

Ed was right outside. He might be in the tent that he shared with Carol, and he might not be paying them any attention at the moment, but he was out there. Even though Daryl wouldn't ask her about it, he knew that Ed probably put that faint red mark on her cheek for speaking to him in the field that morning. It would be worse over a flower—over a gift that Daryl brought her, no matter how simple. And it would be much worse if Ed even suspected that Daryl was maybe thinking about Carol more than he had to just to find Sophia.

Daryl shook his head at her again.

"You don't gotta worry," Daryl said. "We're gonna find her. We'll go out in the morning. All of us. Split up so we can cover more ground and we'll find her. She was in that house."

"You really believe that?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded his head.

"I do," Daryl said. "This mornin' at least. She was in that house. I believe it. Don't you?"

"Maybe if I'd seen it," Carol said. "If I'd seen _something_. But..."

She didn't finish. Daryl understood what she was saying with her silence. He understood what she didn't want to say out loud. It was easy to lose hope. It was easy to lose faith. Especially when she had someone like her husband breathing down her neck and constantly telling her that her hope was useless and unfounded.

Daryl leaned over and tapped the glass of the beer bottle that held the Cherokee Rose with his fingertip.

"Somethin' to lift your spirits," Daryl said. "Goodnight," he tossed out before he turned and left the RV as quickly as he'd come, finding that he couldn't say anything else and he was almost afraid to hear her say anything to him. He heard her say goodnight to him, just as he opened the RV door to step out into the darkness, but he didn't listen for anything more than that.

He really didn't need anything more than that.

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol sat on her sleeping bag and stared at Ed while he slept. In some ways, part of the danger surrounding Ed was that he could be entirely unpredictable. It could be impossible, sometimes, to know what would set him off and what wouldn't. His moods could swing from one extreme to another in a matter of minutes and it could be hard to know what would set the pendulum in motion. In other ways, though, Ed was extremely predictable. Carol could tell from the way that he acted in the early part of the evening when he was going to insist that she sleep with him before he settled in to sleep for the night. Sometimes he gave her some warnings as early as the morning. When they'd first been married, she'd been flattered by his interest. Now it only made her stomach turn. She'd spend almost the whole day dreading being with her husband the same way some people might dread a root canal.

It was no way to feel about the man that you were supposed to love with all your heart and soul.

The only good thing about any time that Ed insisted she do her so-called wifely duties was that he was guaranteed to pass out afterwards. He always slept after sex and he always slept soundly. Carol could count on being practically free from him for the rest of the night if only she'd suffer through being with him.

She could really do anything she wanted because, once he was out like that, he was gone.

Carol sat on her sleeping bag and watched Ed while he slept. He was entirely unaware of her presence. His guard was completely down. It would be so simple to do away with him. If she had the guts to do it, she could take the little knife she had and she could drag it across his throat. If she cut deep enough—with enough conviction behind it—she could kill him before he ever woke up to know what she was doing.

In a matter of seconds, Carol could be free from Ed forever. Not just for the night. And she'd never be forced to do anything else with him again.

Ed Peletier would no longer worry Carol.

And Sophia? If God were to smile on Carol enough to give her daughter back to her? Sophia could be free from a father who had only ever been that in title and technicality.

Carol sighed. She wasn't going to cut Ed's throat. She couldn't. She'd thought about more times than she was comfortable admitting and she'd never done it. She wouldn't do it tonight, either. Maybe some tiny piece of her still loved him. Maybe she was just afraid of being punished for her actions. Whatever it was, though, her stomach wasn't in it when she thought about finally ending the man's life.

Instead of killing Ed, Carol took the freedom that his sound sleep offered her and crawled out of the tent. Around her, everyone else was asleep. The fire had been out for a while. There weren't any signs of life anywhere. Everyone was still in their tents with the exception of a few snores that drifted around in the night air, and most of them might've actually been coming from her own tent.

Inside the farmhouse there were a few lamps burning in the windows. The room where Carol knew that Carl was sleeping had a lamp burning there, but it appeared that everyone else was asleep.

The world was asleep. It was only Carol that was awake.

Carol walked toward the field quietly, looking out into the woods. She wished that she could see something. She wished that she could see some flicker of light coming from the darkness of the wooded area and that it could somehow belong to Sophia. She wished she could see a candle or a fire—some beacon to tell her that Sophia was there.

Alone, just as she was, Carol would have run toward the light right away without even thinking about her safety. She would've gone toward any sign that her daughter was alive. Her chest throbbed, just looking toward the woods, to know that her daughter might be out there somewhere, alone, waiting on her. Carol was growing tired of spending her nights with her arms empty and aching for the feeling of her daughter next to her.

But there wasn't any sign that Sophia was out there.

Carol did see the signs of a small fire, though, even though it wasn't burning in the woods. The fire burned very low a short distance away from their camp. Beside the fire was the one lone tent where Daryl had staked his claim to be away from everyone.

From where she stood, Carol could see Daryl's outline as he sat on the ground, outside of his tent, and entertained himself with stirring the burning embers of his small fire.

There was nobody awake but her and Daryl. It seemed that neither of them were half as capable of sleeping as most of their companions.

Carol walked back to the tent and knelt down to look inside. Ed was still asleep. He was fast asleep. He'd be that way until morning and Carol was sure of that. She reached inside the tent and gathered up her shoes. Stepping back outside of her tent, Carol closed the flap and slipped her shoes on. She cast a glance, once more, in the direction of Daryl's tent.

He was still sitting there, alone, with nothing more to entertain him than the embers of a fire that was quickly dying.

She considered going back into the tent and trying to sleep, but she decided against it. Instead, she started across the field, headed in the direction of the only fire that was burning anywhere in sight. It wasn't the beacon that she'd hoped for, but like a moth, she still felt drawn to it.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl could hear her coming before she was ever more than a dark outline of herself contrasting with the darkness around her. He knew it was her. He had no reason to know, but he knew.

When the firelight finally revealed her to him, Daryl watched her to see what she would do. He waited to see what she would say. She didn't say anything at first, she simply sat down on the ground near him and sat watching the flickering flames of his low burning fire.

Daryl had to be the one to break the silence.

"You ought not to be here," Daryl said.

"Couldn't sleep," Carol said. "I see you couldn't either."

"Ain't about sleepin'," Daryl responded.

Carol sucked in a breath and let it out with a sigh.

"Ed's asleep," Carol said.

"And he could wake up," Daryl pointed out.

"He won't," Carol said. "Not for a while."

"Don't be too sure," Daryl said.

Carol laughed quietly to herself.

"I'm sure," she said. "You learn people's habits. Good and bad."

Daryl swallowed. He didn't respond because he didn't know how. He supposed there was some truth to that, though. If you spent enough time with someone you'd learn their habits. They had all been together a short period of time in comparison to how long Carol had probably been married to Ed and already they were learning each other's ticks and tells.

"Can I ask you something?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed at her.

"You're here," he said. "Don't look like you're leaving. Might as well."

Carol nodded her head. She glanced at him, but she quickly redirected her eyes to watch the fire again. Daryl followed her lead and used the stick that he was holding to stoke the fire again, not that he really needed it.

"Why are you—why are you helping me?" Carol asked. "Why are you being so kind?"

Daryl's stomach twisted and his chest tightened. He wasn't sure that was a question that he was prepared to answer. He wasn't sure that it was a question he could answer. He really didn't know the answer, definitively, for himself. And he found, when he tried to force words out, that they simply didn't come. Carol was looking at him. He could feel her looking at him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, but he didn't dare to turn his face in her direction or make eye contact with her—and he didn't know why. Maybe a part of him felt like she would see more than he wanted her to see if he were to make direct eye contact with her at that moment. He couldn't trust the darkness of the night to hide everything that he might want to hide from her—everything that he didn't quite understand as it rolled around in his mind, all the thoughts bumping together like marbles rolling around in a drawer.

When Daryl didn't respond to her, he heard Carol make something like a soft humming noise. He chanced another glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She'd looked away from him then and he could risk turning his face a little more in her direction. She didn't look angry that he didn't answer her. Instead, she simply seemed to calmly accept it. She was watching the fire again like the flames might reveal something to the two of them in a vision.

"Thank you for looking for Sophia," Carol said. "Thank you for—for believing that we're going to find her."

"We're gonna find her," Daryl offered quietly.

The corners of Carol's mouth turned up only slightly. She still didn't look at him, though. She nodded her head gently to confirm her belief of his words, or at least her desire to believe them.

"Thank you for the flower," Carol said. "For the story. About the Cherokee Rose. It was really kind, Daryl. It was—the gesture meant a lot. To me. And it was nice. It's been a long time since anyone brought me flowers, no matter the reason."

Daryl's whole body protested listening to Carol's words. He half wanted to jump up and simply run away from the conversation. He half wanted to leave her sitting there alone and go off to find somewhere where he didn't have to look at her face and he didn't have to feel her sitting so close to him. He half wanted to go so that he wouldn't have to hear her say nice things to him about what he'd done or what he was doing and so he didn't have to hear about her life and know what she was going through—what she'd been through.

But the other half of him wanted to stay right there. Even though he felt like there wasn't anything that he could say to her, and even though her simple presence was tying him up in knots that made him uncomfortable, he wanted to stay right there. He wanted to hear anything she had to say and he wanted to watch her watching the flames as they did their best to eat through the few sticks that he'd tossed on them to keep them going.

Daryl wanted Carol to go back to her tent. He wanted to be sure that Ed wasn't going to wake up and realize where she'd gone. He wanted to know that Ed wasn't going to treat her badly for simply taking a walk to his campsite and sitting down to talk to him. But Daryl also didn't want her to leave and he didn't know how to tell her that. He didn't know if he could tell her that, but he was pretty sure that it wouldn't be right if he were ever able to get the words out.

He never got the words out though. He didn't get a single word out. After all her sincere thanks, Daryl couldn't even tell her that she was welcome or that he wished he could do more. He didn't tell her anything. His voice got locked up tight in his throat and all he could do was look at her until she looked at him again and he had to turn away to hide his embarrassment over the fact that he felt unable to even utter a single intelligent word at the moment.

Carol gave Daryl a tight smile that relaxed into a more sincere smile. She raised her eyebrows at him and moved to get up. Daryl reached a hand out, instinctively, to help her up but she was up before he was even really able to offer her assistance.

"I just wanted to say thank you, Daryl," Carol said. "I'd better be getting back. Ed will sleep for a while but, like you said, I don't want to be too sure about that. Goodnight, Daryl."

"Goodnight," Daryl mumbled in response, barely able to even choke out the word.

He watched as Carol walked away from his little campsite and turned back into the dark outline of herself that moved smoothly through her surroundings despite the fact that she probably couldn't clearly see where she was going. Daryl looked at the flames of his little fire once more. Despite the fact that they put off a fair amount of heat, and far more than was needed on an already warm night, Daryl felt a sort of chill run through his body that hadn't been there before.

He wished he'd been able to say something to her. He wished he'd even known what to say to her. But he still wasn't sure what he should've said.

Nothing he was thinking seemed right or even easy to put into words. It wasn't even easy for Daryl to understand and it was happening inside his head. He couldn't very well tell her that she made it hard for him to think of even the simplest things when she was close to him, and she'd probably think he was an idiot if he were to tell her that at any rate.

He wished he'd been able to offer her something, though, to take back with her when she returned to the tent where her husband was sleeping. It was easy enough to see and to know that she wasn't happy with him and returning to his side wasn't a joyous occasion for her. Daryl wished that he was able to say something that might make it a little less painful.

And then, studying his fire and worrying over the fact that his brain seemed to sometimes fail him, Daryl turned his thoughts to the man who was sleeping in the little tent to which Carol was returning.

Ed Peletier was a man that, by Daryl's standards, pretty much had it all. As far as Daryl could tell, he'd been living the good life for a while now. He'd had a job, and Daryl knew that much, so he was doing fine there. It must've been a decent enough job because they'd come with a car full of supplies and Daryl knew that Carol hadn't worked, so Ed must've made enough money to keep his family afloat and to afford them some luxuries.

Ed Peletier had been married to a beautiful woman who, clearly, would do anything that he desired. Chances were, Carol would've done anything he wanted even without the threat of him blackening her eyes if she didn't. From the way that Carol acted around the camps that they'd been in, she'd probably kept a clean house for Ed to live in. She'd probably kept his clothes clean and neat and ready for him. She was a good cook and she'd probably been an even better cook when she had everything she wanted at her disposal and wasn't making do with whatever could be scared up for a meal. She'd probably fed Ed three meals a day like he was a king. Ed Peletier was a man who, at least before the world went to shit, probably couldn't remember the last time that he lived in a place that was uncomfortable or went to bed without a good meal to fill his stomach.

Creature comforts aside, Carol probably offered Ed a good deal more as well. Those thoughts made Daryl's stomach churn and he tried to push them out of his head. He didn't want to imagine it, but he couldn't exactly help it. That was part of having a wife, as Daryl understood it, and especially part of having a wife who would clearly work so hard to please her husband.

Ed Peletier probably had every damn thing he wanted from his wife and then some—and he never would have had to raise his hand to her to get it. He only raised his hand against his wife because he was an asshole who wanted to beat on things, not because he really had no other choice.

And he'd had a daughter too.

Carol had given Ed a daughter. At some point, Sophia would've been a baby. A tiny, helpless baby that was brand new in the world. At some point, Ed was a new father and he'd been introduced to his baby girl—a child that his wife had grown for him for months and delivered into the world for him. Carol had given him that.

And it was clear that he didn't appreciate that gift. Not one bit.

Ed didn't even seem bothered that Sophia was gone. She wasn't Daryl's kid. She wasn't even a kid that he'd known that long. Yet, simply because she was a kid and she'd been given a shit lot in life, Daryl was awake and worried about her. When he closed his eyes, he had something like flashbacks of things that he hoped hadn't happened yet. He saw her, alone and afraid, and he worried about her. He imagined her hungry and thirsty and desperate for someone to find her. Sophia kept Daryl awake at night, but her own flesh and blood slept peacefully while she was out there.

Ed Peletier was a man who had everything that a man could want in the world, at least as far as Daryl was concerned, and he didn't seem to want any of it. He didn't value any of it. He didn't appreciate his wife and all she did for him. He didn't appreciate the child that she'd given him. He was like a child that had too damn many toys and complained, when getting the best things that he could for Christmas, that he hadn't gotten something more.

Daryl couldn't understand, not at all, how someone could have everything that Ed Peletier had and simply piss it away. He couldn't wrap his mind around how a man could have all that, and still have it after the hell that they'd been through, and not spend half his days thanking God, or whatever deity he believed had given him everything, for simply seeing fit to let him keep it. Daryl couldn't comprehend how it was that Ed was sleeping peacefully with his own flesh and blood wandering around in the woods, lost, when he felt like, if he were in Ed's place, he'd tear up hell and half of Georgia to find his daughter.

Some people, it seemed, had so much good that they couldn't appreciate the good that they had any longer.

But that was something that Daryl simply didn't understand.

He'd never had that much good, and even if he were ever lucky enough to get that much goodness in abundance, he hoped he never turned into the kind of man who would take it all for granted. He knew, too well, what it was like to be without it.


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. This is also a different take on an old scene.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

When breakfast was done, it seemed that everyone fell into the same routine that they'd been in the day before. For a short stint of time, Daryl watched them mill about, everyone seeming to be looking to everyone else to tell them what to do. They picked up tasks that weren't useful. They exchange conversation that was even less useful. Everyone wandered back and forth and discussed this or that, but there wasn't a lot of forward movement taking place. Whether or not there ever would be any true call to action, Daryl didn't know. What he did know, though, was that he had no intention of sitting around and burning the daylight hours when he knew that Sophia was out there and she couldn't be that far away.

While everyone talked about what they would do when they finally got around to doing anything at all, Daryl took himself to the barn. He surveyed the horses in the stalls and saddled the one horse that he could successfully get bridled. Daryl's knowledge of horses was severely limited. He'd worked one summer clearing lots with a man who had horses and a few times he'd been invited back to the man's barn to see his beasts and loudly appreciate them over a free beer or two. Out of his limited interest in the animals—respect for the animal more than anything—Daryl had earned himself a few quick and rudimentary lessons about the horses and riding from the man who owned them. As Daryl would tell anyone who asked, he knew just enough about the animals to be dangerous.

His limited knowledge of horses served him just enough, though, to get the horse saddled and to get it headed out in the direction of the woods. He went directly toward the house where he'd found evidence of Sophia's survival, and then he followed the creek hoping to stumble upon her whereabouts.

If she didn't give him something more to go on, it was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. He wanted to help Sophia, but he also needed the girl to help him—even if she had no way of knowing it. Daryl followed the creek, allowing the horse to walk wherever it pleased as long as it somewhat followed his directions, and only stopped the animal when he saw something in the water, bunched up and slowing the flow of liquid, that caught his attention. He dismounted the horse and inspected what he'd found.

He'd thought it was a dress, all wadded up in the water, but it was actually something much more wonderful than a dress. Daryl's heart bounced around in his chest at the sight of it. It was a doll. And it wasn't just any doll. It was the doll that Sophia had acquired at the rock quarry. It was the doll that she was never without.

Finding the doll meant that Sophia was close by. It meant that Daryl was moving in the right direction. It also meant, though, that something had made Sophia lose the doll. It wasn't stained with blood. The only stains on the cloth doll were stains that came from mud. Still, something had spooked Sophia badly enough that she'd dropped the doll and failed to go back for it. The doll had been her only companion, as far as Daryl knew, so whatever it was must've been serious for her to abandon her friend.

Daryl didn't know if the doll had fallen in the creek and drifted downstream or if Sophia had dropped it at just that point, but he was feeling a good deal more optimistic. He fastened the doll to his belt, tying it in tight, and he searched the area for signs of Sophia's passing through. He found some tracks, but it was impossible to tell if they belonged to the girl or simply to anything else that might have come through that area. Still, taking the only lead he had at the moment, Daryl mounted the horse again and nudged her to move forward, following the direction of the tracks.

The ground sloped up, losing the creek entirely for a bit as it rose into a ridge. Daryl followed along the ridge when the tracks veered in that direction, carefully guiding the horse. He rode a short distance to the side of the tracks that he was trying to follow—sporadic and spaced out tracks that could belong to anything, but he was choosing to believe they were signs of Sophia's recent and clearly hurried passing-through of the area—and kept his eyes pinned on the ground to his side.

The ridge rose higher and higher, as many of them had a way of doing in Georgia, until it leveled out and just below him the water ran in a trickle through the deep valley. Sophia might very well choose to run through here. There was good coverage, lots of trees, and she wouldn't have lost sight of her water source even if it would prove difficult to reach it in a hurry.

As Daryl rode along, eyes on the ground beside him, he forgot one very important point about riding horses, particularly in the woods. The only way he would have seen the snake was to have had his eyes directly on the creature. He missed it entirely, but the horse didn't. As soon as the beast reared and started violently crow hopping, Daryl pulled back on the reins to try to gain some control. It was too little, too late, though and he couldn't manage to keep his seat in the saddle. When he hit the ground, Daryl grabbed wildly for anything that would hold him, but his hands came up with nothing but wet leaves and earth.

The only comforting thought that his mind offered him, and the last one it gave him before the world went black, was that the ridge wasn't high enough for the fall to kill him.

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

The feelings of being shaken awake stirred Daryl. He was aware of the pounding in his head and the throbbing in his side simultaneously. His mind felt blurry and clouded. He felt like he was floating. If it weren't for the pain, he might have convinced himself he was dead. Maybe he was in hell. For a moment, wanting to escape what he felt, Daryl closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. He couldn't, though, because the shaking didn't stop.

And then he heard the growling.

Daryl opened his eyes and looked around him. His head throbbed and he could hear the sound of blood rushing in his skull like a raging river. At his foot there was one of the nasty bastards chewing on his boot. Daryl felt around and, finding his crossbow had landed near him, raised it up to shoot an arrow directly into the thing's head.

The movement from lying down to sitting sent Daryl into a spiral of pain and dizziness. He dropped back down and closed his eyes against the sensation. His throat burned. His head hurt. His eyes swam. His side throbbed.

If he wasn't dying, he was damn near close to it. He might even welcome it at this point.

"What the fuck is your problem? Look at'cha layin' out here in the dirt. Layin' out here waitin' to die with your dick in your hand. What the fuck is wrong with ya? Such a damn pussy you can't even get up now? Rollin' around in the dirt like a damn dirty-ass pig?"

The voice was familiar. It was very familiar. Despite the string of profanities and abuse, it was a welcomed sound. It sent a warm rush through Daryl's body. He opened his eyes. He never expected to see his brother alive again. He certainly didn't expect to see him there.

Daryl didn't stop to ask himself what his brother was doing there.

"Merle?" Daryl asked. He found that his voice didn't work well. It worked as poorly as he'd imagine any other part of his body might work at the moment.

Merle laughed at him. Daryl laughed quietly at his brother's reaction—it was so familiar, and the familiarity was comforting. Merle stooped down next to him.

"What the fuck you doin' out here, lil' brother?" Merle asked, repeating himself for good measure. "Rollin' around in the mud like a damned pig."

"Lookin' for the lil' girl, Merle," Daryl said. "She lost her lil' girl."

"You into lil' girl's now, brother?" Merle asked, giving Daryl shit.

"Ain't like that," Daryl said. "She lost—she lost her lil' girl."

Merle hummed, musing over Daryl's words in the familiar way that he always chewed over whatever was said to him.

"So it ain't lil' girls you into—but they still got you out here rollin' in the damn mud," Merle said.

"Horse threw me. Fell down. Lookin' for the girl," Daryl responded again. His head continued to swim. He closed his eyes again and only opened them when Merle spoke once more.

"Sure didn't waste no time lookin' for me, lil' brother," Merle said. "Not for your own brother. Your own flesh and blood. You run off an' forgot about me quick as you could."

"Weren't like that," Daryl said. He shook his head from side to side and immediately regretted the action. "Went back for you. Looked for you. You was gone. If you'da stayed. If you'da waited."

Daryl never did finish what he was saying. He closed his eyes again against the feelings in his head. His brain felt like it wasn't resting the right way up in his head any longer. He might've drifted off again. But then Merle woke him.

"That's enough of a nap, Derlina," Merle said. "Get the fuck up. Look at'cha. Bleedin' all over the damned place. Get the fuck up, Derlina. Go lookin' after her lil' girl if that's what'cha doin'. But don't'cha forget, lil' brother. She don't look at'cha like that. None of 'em don't. Use you for what they need, but they only ever gonna look at'cha like redneck white trash. She's only ever gonna look at'cha like redneck white trash."

Daryl's stomach churned at Merle's words. It was an unwelcome sensation in a long line of unwelcomed feelings. He swallowed against the nausea.

"No," he said.

"They ain't'cha blood," Merle said. "She ain't'cha blood. That lil' girl? She ain't no kin a' yours. Ain't nobody ever loved you like I do, lil' brother. Ain't nobody never gonna love you like I do."

"It ain't like that," Daryl muttered, dropping back off to sleep, finding it impossible to stay awake, even with Merle standing over him and waiting for him to get to his feet—even with Merle calling him names to try to spur him on to something that he knew he didn't want to do.

The blackness wrapped around him and Daryl closed his eyes, swimming into it.

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

 _Climb! Hike up your damn skirts and climb! Show me you some damn bigshot. Kick off your damn high heels and climb, brother!_

Sitting on the ridge with his back against a tree, Daryl sat and watched the woods around him. Merle was gone. Actually, Merle had never been there. Not in flesh and blood. Daryl knew, now, that his brother had only been an apparition. He'd been a ghost. Not the kind that walked through walls and spooked the shit out of kids by wearing bedsheets and waving chains, but he'd been a ghost nonetheless.

Merle was a ghost that lived deep inside Daryl. He'd always been with Daryl—possibly from the very first breath that Daryl had drawn in the world—and now Daryl had proof that his brother would always be with him—possibly until his final breath. His brother was an asshole. He was a first-class, grade A asshole, but he was Daryl's asshole. He had ragged Daryl on until he'd made it up the ridge and was safely on solid and familiar ground, but then he'd never come back after Daryl had lost consciousness again.

It was typical Merle.

He always had a knack of being there when Daryl absolutely couldn't survive without him—showing up just in the nick of time—but he would always sort of disappear when the danger was mostly done or he was sure that Daryl could make it on his own the rest of the way.

Daryl sat against the tree and watched a tree in front of him to judge his vision. It was clearing up. His head was getting less heavy and he wasn't spinning quite so often. He'd bandaged his side the best he could—since he'd been lucky to catch an arrow all the way through it on his way down-and he'd drank some of the dirty creek water. As his mind cleared, he was starting to get his bearings on where he was and where he'd come from. He could find the horse's tracks even if the asshole horse had left him there and run off to save his own damn skin.

Daryl could find his way back to the farm just as soon as he was able to steadily stay on his feet.

Merle had showed up just in the nick of time. If he hadn't come, Daryl might've not make it out of the creek bed. But he was gone, true to himself, the moment that Daryl was sure that he had it from here.

Daryl laughed to himself, his vision ever-improving.

"I got it from here, brother," Daryl commented to the empty air around him. "Don't you fuckin' worry 'bout me. I got it from here." Daryl moved his hand and touched his side. After the fall, the doll was worse for the wear. She was muddier and stained, now, with Daryl's blood, but she was still there. He still had her, and he knew that she was proof that he was on the right track. In just a few moments, he'd feel clear-headed enough to get to his feet. He'd feel strong enough to attempt the walk back. He'd get help and he'd tell them about what he'd found. He'd tell them that he knew he was on the right track, he just got side-tracked by a nervous ass horse and a stupid snake. "I won't find her today," Daryl said. "But I'll find her. And—you was wrong about one thing, brother. You was dead ass wrong. They might see me as the white trash piece a' shit he raised me to be—raised you to be—but she don't. She don't. You was wrong about that, brother. You been wrong about a lotta damn things—like sayin' I didn't go back for you. You might still be wrong about a whole lot more."


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Warning for Ed's presence here. There's nothing violent, but it's Ed.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

The meal was the first meal that Carol had made with carefully chosen ingredients since the world had turned upside down. Standing in the kitchen, chopping tomatoes and stirring pots that were cooking over the eye of the stove was relaxing. It felt surreal. There were still places in the world where people lived like this—surrounded by what Carol now knew to be luxury. There were still places where people seemed practically untouched by the horrors of a world gone mad.

The Greene farmhouse was one of those places. Maybe it was one of the last remaining places on Earth that was still an escape from the world.

They'd decided to cook dinner for Hershel and his family—and for their group, by extension, as something of a thank you for having them. They'd offered some of their meagre rations, but Maggie had refused them and said that they should use what the farm had to offer. They had plenty and, if not eaten, everything fresh would simply go to waste. Even if they were living veritably untouched by everything that nearly destroyed everyone else, they still didn't want to waste perfectly good food by letting it rot when there were people who would benefit from it.

Outside the house, Rick and Shane had taken Glenn and T-Dog to search near the house that Daryl had marked for them on the map. Dale had disappeared somewhere on the farm and Daryl was nowhere to be found. Lori went between checking on Carl and helping Carol in the kitchen and Maggie and Andrea went between offering snatches of help in the kitchen and doing whatever other tasks they seemed to find to keep themselves busy. Outside, Carol assumed that Ed was either drinking or sleeping off what he'd drank and, honestly, she didn't care which it was as long as he was letting her be.

He'd fought her, at first, about cooking the meal for Hershel and his family. He'd said that it wasn't right and that if she was cooking a meal for anybody it ought to be him. His consolation was that he'd eat the meal just the same as everyone else, and Carol had actually managed to win him over by convincing him that cooking the meal for Hershel's family could end up benefitting all of them in the long run.

Hershel Greene didn't want them on his farm any longer than they had to be there, but Carol suspected that was because he failed to see them as people. He failed to know any of them. He kept his distance and he didn't hear any of them out. He wasn't trying to understand any of them or know anything about what they'd been through. A meal, shared together, would give him the chance to get to know them. It might make him sympathetic to them and their experiences. It might make him much more open to the idea of sharing his life, and his home by extension, with them.

It certainly couldn't hurt.

"Is this ready yet?" Lori asked, coming into the kitchen and opening the oven once more to check the chicken that Carol was roasting.

Carol laughed to herself.

"It would be ready a lot quicker if you and Andrea would stop opening the oven door and letting all the heat out," Carol said. "It's still got a while."

"We don't want it to dry out," Lori said.

"I've cooked a lot of things in my life," Carol said. "A dry chicken was never one of them. Close the door. It still needs time."

"You're a little too confident," Lori challenged. "Especially since you didn't even look at it."

Carol laughed to herself again.

"I am one with the chicken," she teased.

"A regular chicken whisperer," Lori said.

Carol hummed.

"Something like that," Carol said. "Where's Andrea? I'm supposed to be keeping an eye out for her."

"Outside," Lori said. "Sharpening her knives or keeping watch with her gun. Whatever—whatever it is that Andrea does with her time these days. Preparing for war or something."

"Andrea's fighting her own war," Carol said. "We all are, maybe. You pace the floor between here and that bedroom enough that you've worn a track in Hershel's wood floors. Andrea's fine. She's dealing, and that's the important thing. She's just doing it Andrea's way. Everyone's dealing with everything in their own way."

Lori stopped fussing with the onion she'd starting roughly cutting up since leaving the chicken alone. She wiped her hands on her pants and crossed her arms across her chest. She turned to face Carol, leaning back against the kitchen counters for support.

"Speaking of dealing with things," Lori said, "I've been meaning to ask you more how—how you're dealing with things."

Carol swallowed. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm dealing with them," Carol said. She offered her best smile to Lori. "I'm—I'm just dealing with them."

"I can see that," Lori said. She sighed and turned back around to harass the onion a little more. At least when it was cooked and buried in the casserole that Carol was making as a side dish, nobody would be able to see how erratically it had been chopped. "It almost seems like you're dealing with things better than anybody else around here is. In fact? If I didn't know any better? I'd even say you were—doing well."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Maybe I'm doing as well as I can be," Carol said. "And maybe, for now, that's got to be enough."

Lori hummed.

"Maybe," she said. "But—there's something to be said about it."

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111

The food had been left to finish under Maggie's watchful eye. Everything was either resting or in its final stages and Carol was certain that the young woman could handle it from there. Carol stepped outside to tend to a few chores around their campsite and to straighten things up so that the area wouldn't be an eyesore to Hershel. Most of the men were still absent from the camp, but Carol had already caught a glimpse of Rick, Shane, Glenn, and T-Dog coming out of the woods. They were alone. They hadn't found Sophia, but at least they'd looked. Honestly, at this point, that was more than Carol had really expected.

Dale, too, had shown back up, though he'd disappeared again. Ed was asleep in the tent and Carol was content to let him stay that way until it was time to eat.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, though, when the rather serene atmosphere around them was broken by Andrea's yelling from her perch atop the RV.

"Walker!" Andrea yelled. "Walker!"

Carol yelped and quickly turned, expecting to see a herd of the creatures coming from the woods. Dale reappeared, practically diving out of the RV, yelling back to Andrea to ask what she was talking about. Her voice carried far enough for the Walker to hear, more than likely, because Rick and company responded by heading in the direction of the creature that was staggering out of the woods.

Carol heard them yelling, too, even from the distance that separated them all.

"Don't shoot!"

Whether or not Andrea heard their repeated yells that she shouldn't shoot, or whether or not she was too wrapped up in her own thoughts about the Walker to comprehend what they were saying, Andrea did exactly what they asked her not to do. She fired the rifle from atop the RV and the Walker dropped just as Rick and Shane closed the distance and reached it. There was some yelling from the field, but Carol couldn't hear any of what they might be saying over Dale's scolding of Andrea and Andrea's pleased declaration that she'd made the shot.

With all the chaos, there also came some yelling from Hershel's porch as people stepped out to find out what was happening. Ed, woken from his slumber, emerged from the tent like a bear, protesting the racket.

Carol's head swam as she tried to take it all in, and it only got worse when Rick and Shane, dragging along the downed Walker, got closer and Carol realized that they weren't carrying a Walker at all—they were supporting Daryl who looked like he'd been through hell and, if Andrea's aim was true, had also been shot. Carol's heart froze in her chest and her stomach clenched violently. She lost her breath, for a moment, but quickly got it back, trying to figure out what she could do to help in the situation.

"Get Hershel! It's Daryl!" Rick yelled as they got closer. "Get Hershel!"

"Oh my God!" Andrea yelled, scrambling down off the RV. "Oh my God! It's Daryl! I shot Daryl!"

Carol didn't know who to help, but she decided to go for Hershel. She didn't have too far to go because the old man was already dismounting his porch steps.

"I said no weapons!" He growled.

"He needs help," Carol said in response, not even trying to argue in defense of the rifle for a moment.

Hershel left her, turning back, and headed back into the house. Carol could only hope that meant that he'd help Daryl since he offered nothing in the way of a reply and she didn't dare to ask him for anything more and risk looking more concerned over Daryl's safety than she would over anyone else's—not with Ed watching her. Rick and Shane made it to the house quicker than she might've thought they would and she only allowed herself to glance at Daryl's somewhat limp body as they dragged him past her.

Carol froze, though, when T-Dog came walking up, something in his hands, and called for their attention.

"I think you might want to see this!" He called.

Carol fell to her knees, her breath leaving her again, and this time much more completely, when she saw the doll that Daryl had apparently dropped in the field.

111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"It's a dumb ass doll," Ed said. Carol ignored him. Sitting on her knees in the tent, forced to be there with him during the few minutes they waited for Hershel to announce that he was ready for supper to be put on the table, Carol scrubbed the doll in a bucket of water to clean it the best that she could. The doll was stained badly, but she had already been assured that, even while he was getting stitched up, Daryl had told Shane and Rick that the doll had been undamaged when he'd found it. The blood that stained the cloth body was his. It wasn't Sophia's.

"It's Sophia's doll, Ed," Carol said.

"She's too damn old for dolls," Ed grumbled. "Was."

The hair on the back of Carol's neck bristled, but she swallowed back her desire to say anything. Saying something to Ed would only provoke him. That's what he wanted. He wanted her to fight with him. He wanted her, as he would say, to give him a reason to lash out at her. She wasn't going to do it. If he hit her, it would be unprovoked.

"We know she was there," Carol said.

"You don't know shit," Ed said. "You know he found a damn doll in the mud. That's all the hell you know! You stupid bitch—you actually think she's alive out there?"

Carol swallowed against the lump in her throat.

"She is," Carol said.

"She ain't fuckin' alive," Ed said. "She's dead. Been dead for days. When you gonna fuckin' know that she's dead and you wastin' your time thinkin' she's alive? Stupid bitch..."

Carol thought about her resolution not to provoke Ed. She wasn't sure how long she could swallow it all down. She wasn't sure, honestly, if she wouldn't just rather take the beating that he wanted desperately to give her in exchange for the chance to say what she wanted.

If she treaded easily, he might let it slide—he was drunk enough that he was relaxed, but he wasn't drunk enough yet that he'd slipped into being relaxed enough to not give a shit about whether or not anyone was bluffing about what they said would happen if he beat her half to death.

Carol sucked in a breath and let it out.

"Would you care, Ed?" Carol asked. "If she were dead? Would you care?"

Ed didn't react violently. He didn't react at all. The silence was so unlike him that Carol stopped tending the doll and turned to look at him to see if he'd just randomly passed out.

"Why the hell you lookin' at me?" He growled. "Don't fuckin' care one way or another. Not about her. I weren't never sure she was mine, Carol. You know there was never any proof."

Carol swallowed down the burst of ironic laughter that rumbled around in her chest. She shook her head at him. She didn't know what she expected from him. Maybe, just then, she expected him to soften. Maybe she expected him to say that he was scared that Sophia was dead. Maybe she hoped he'd say that he was taking it badly. Maybe he'd give her some excuse for how he was acting.

Carol could forgive him, she thought, for what he was doing and what he was saying if only he'd tell her it was coming from a place of hurt or even fear.

But he wouldn't give her that, and Carol didn't know if it was some kind of stubborn pride or if it was actually that he just didn't care.

Considering history, Carol was sorry to admit to herself that she thought he just didn't care. He was upset, but it wasn't about Sophia. If anything, he was upset that Carol, perhaps, wasn't giving him her undivided attention. Carol turned back toward the doll and rang out the excess water from the doll's dress. It wasn't perfect, but it was as close as she could get it.

"It's time for supper," Carol said. "We should go inside. Join the others. It'll be a good meal."

"I'm not eating with all them," Ed said. "Fuck that. We'll stay right here."

"I cooked it," Carol said. "I'm going to eat it."

"It was your stupid ass that let them put you to work cooking it," Ed said. "You ain't goin' no damn where. You'll stay your ass right here with me. Where the hell you belong. You ain't married to them, Carol."

Carol swallowed.

"I'd like for you to eat with us, Ed," Carol said. "And it's a real nice meal. But if you won't? I'll bring you a plate tonight."

"Fuck you and your plate," Ed said. "Fuck the whole damn lot of you. You just leave me alone. That's what the hell I want you to do. I want you to take your stupid ass outta my sight—take your damn doll, too, and I want you to leave me the hell alone."

Carol nodded her head. As he requested, and partly so that he wouldn't destroy it as he continued to drink himself into a stupor with what was left of the alcohol he'd scavenged on the highway, Carol gathered up the doll. She gathered up the bucket, too, to put away.

"That's exactly what I'm doing, Ed," Carol said as she slipped out the tent. "I'll bring you some food."


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol carried a tray of food to the room where Daryl was resting. She waited outside the door, knowing already that Andrea was inside and speaking with Daryl. Dale was keeping guard, like a sentinel just outside the door.

"She with him?" Carol asked. She already knew the answer, but making some sort of conversation beat standing there in awkward silence with Dale. Dale glanced toward the door and back at Carol before he nodded.

"She's upset," Dale said.

"It was an accident," Carol said.

"But she could've killed Daryl," Dale said.

"The important thing is—she didn't," Carol said. "Daryl knows it was an accident. I don't think you have to worry about it. About—how he'll react. He isn't..." Carol stopped. She realized she was about to make a declaration based solely on what she believed about Daryl and not at all on what she actually knew about him. Carol knew as well as anyone that what we're given to believe about people isn't always the truth. Still, she believed she knew the truth about Daryl. She renewed her confidence in her own stalled declaration. "He isn't that kind of person."

Dale laughed quietly to himself and then his smile melted back into his concern.

"I'm not worried about Daryl," Dale said. "I'm worried about Andrea."

"She's coming around," Carol said. "We all do that at our own speed."

Their conversation was interrupted when the door opened. Andrea slipped out of it, red-eyed and red-nosed. She stopped, just as she pulled the door closed behind her, and stared with some surprise at the number of people she wasn't expecting in the tight little hallway of the farmhouse. She glanced between Carol and Dale.

"He's fine," Andrea said.

"How about you?" Dale asked.

Andrea shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. If her face didn't answer the question, the quality of her voice did when it shook slightly.

"I shot Daryl," Andrea said. "I apologized but—that doesn't change the fact that I shot him."

"What'd he say?" Dale asked, putting voice to the question that was running through Carol's head.

Andrea laughed to herself. She shook her head again.

"Nothing," Andrea said. "Nothing—not of consequence. He said it was good aim from the distance, but the next time I decided to shoot him? I better make sure he's dead."

Carol laughed in response and swallowed back her laughter.

"Wash your face," Carol said. "Have something to eat. I'm going to take Daryl a plate and then—I'll be at the table."

"Ed's not coming to dinner?" Dale asked.

Carol felt her muscles tense up even at the mention of her husband's name.

"He's not feeling well," she lied. "I'll take him some food after dinner."

Whether or not they believed her, Dale and Andrea accepted Carol's explanation. Dale dropped a hand to Andrea's back and pushed her toward the little hallway bathroom where she could wash her face and hands in preparation for the meal. Carol opened the door of the bedroom that Andrea had only recently vacated and eased her way inside with the tray, immediately pushing the door closed behind her.

The room was dimly lit with one of the oil lamps that Hershel Greene seemed to own in abundance. The flame flickered, giving the room a warm and welcoming feeling. In a nice, antique bed, Daryl lie on his side. It was clear that he'd expected to be left in peace when Andrea was gone, because he jumped when he heard Carol enter and he quickly grabbed his blankets, pulling them up around him.

He didn't pull them up quickly enough, though, and Carol saw what he was trying to hide. Her chest tightened with the sight. It wasn't simply modesty that made him try to cover himself. If it hadn't been for the angry scars on his back, Daryl was probably the kind of man that never would've minded someone seeing him without his shirt.

Carol understood scars, though, of all kinds.

She also understood the desire to hide them, so she didn't mention them. She did her best to wipe her expression blank and put on a warm smile instead of any shock or pity that might have registered there.

Daryl scowled at her at first, but then his expression softened.

"I brought you something to eat," Carol said.

"Not really hungry," Daryl said.

"It's good," Carol said. "Still hot. You need it. Build your strength back up."

When Daryl made no move to take the tray immediately, Carol put it down on the bedside table and stepped closer to the edge of the bed. Daryl rolled his body so that he was facing her a bit more, but he still somewhat kept his body facing away from her.

"Andrea didn't mean to shoot you," Carol said. "She never would've done it if she'd known it was you. Not even if you were a Walker."

Daryl hummed at her.

"It don't matter," Daryl said. "What's done is done. She didn't shoot me dead. Wouldn'ta mattered too much if she did."

Carol swallowed.

"It would've mattered," she said, but she didn't expand on the statement. "It's good that you forgave her."

"Nothin' to forgive," Daryl said.

"Still," Carol said. She sucked in a breath and let it out. Daryl stayed still other than his eyes. He glanced at her, but he quickly looked away. It was as though he had a great interest in the wall on the distant side of the room.

"They give you the doll?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled to herself. She hummed.

"I washed her," Carol said. "She's drying in the kitchen."

"That blood—it weren't Sophia's. Just—I just thought you oughta know that. When I found the doll? Weren't bloody. Just—just muddy."

"The blood was yours," Carol said. Daryl hummed. "Most of it washed out."

"You washed it?" Daryl asked. Carol knew that he'd heard her before, but she didn't know if his head was fuzzy from the concussion or if Hershel might have given him something. She didn't know, either, if he might be asking her to repeat herself simply for the sake of conversation. She got the feeling that maybe Daryl struggled a little with trying to figure out how to make conversation. She wasn't bothered by it either way.

"I washed her," Carol repeated. "So she'd be clean when Sophia gets back." Daryl hummed. "I wanted to thank you. I didn't get to tell you earlier. I wanted to thank you now. For what you did today."

Daryl turned to look at her. He held her eyes for just a moment and then he turned away from her again like he was trying to hide from her. Maybe he was trying to hide something from her, but Carol wasn't sure what it might be.

"Weren't nothin'," Daryl said.

"It was a lot," Carol said.

"Nothin'," Daryl said, sounding a little irritated. "Didn't find her. Just the doll."

Carol realized, then, that maybe it wasn't her that Daryl was irritated with. Maybe it wasn't Andrea. Maybe it wasn't anything about what had happened, exactly, as much as he was irritated with the fact that he'd come back with only the doll and not Sophia.

And though Carol desperately wanted him to find her daughter, she wasn't angry with him because he'd come back from searching another day with nothing more than proof that her daughter was out there, somewhere close by.

"You did a lot, today," Carol said. She knew that, in the process of searching for Sophia, Daryl had an accident that had given him an arrow all the way through his side, a terrible fall, and a bad concussion. She knew that he'd also been nicked by Andrea's bullet after dragging himself back after all that. Yet he'd still managed to bring her the doll as proof that Sophia was out there.

If he was tired and cranky, he had every right to be. But he should also be proud of what he'd done. He shouldn't dismiss it as unimportant like he seemed to be doing.

Carol sucked in a breath, held it a moment, and let it out. Even if she didn't really like the taste of some words on her tongue, there were some words that Daryl needed to hear.

"You did more for Sophia today," Carol said. She hesitated, rethought saying what she planned to say once more, and then decided to continue. "You did more for my daughter today than Ed—than her father has done for her in her whole life. You have to let me thank you for that."

"Nothin' Rick or Shane wouldn't do," Daryl offered.

Carol stood there for a moment and watched Daryl. He kept his eyes away from her for the most part and only glanced at her once when she'd been silent long enough that maybe he thought she'd just decided the conversation was over and left.

Rick and Shane hadn't done anything. The most they'd done was walk a few feet in one direction or another expecting Sophia to simply be standing there, waiting on them. Carol knew that they hadn't really done much to find her daughter, and she doubted if they ever would. Neither of them was concerned with Sophia's whereabouts. They had other things to worry about and that was pretty clear to Carol. She knew, too, that it had to be pretty clear to Daryl. Carol knew that Daryl was aware that neither man was going to do much to find Sophia—not much more than talk about what they should do or what they planned to do. And plans, without action, accomplished very little.

Daryl knew, too, that Ed wasn't going to do anything. Carol could pretend, if it made her feel better, that Ed was too consumed by grief to do anything for his daughter, but the fact of the matter was that he didn't care. He hadn't cared. Carol couldn't really remember him ever caring. He wanted a child, but he hadn't wanted Sophia. He hadn't wanted a real child, honestly, as much as he'd wanted to say that he had children—like somehow it made him a bigger man to produce offspring. He'd never been pleased once he realized that a child could be, as he saw it, an inconvenience.

Still, Carol got a feeling in her gut that something had happened out there. Something had made Daryl start thinking about things a little differently than, maybe, he had before. She didn't feel like he was necessarily living with the belief that Rick or Shane was going to save Sophia as much as he was living with the feeling that his efforts were nothing special.

He was nothing special.

He'd never be like them. There was always that strong "us" and "them". Carol had felt it with people before. It was the feeling that, because of your circumstances, you'd always be outside of those who didn't lead the same life as you. They'd never understand you. And, maybe, they'd always be better than you because they'd never fallen into the same set of circumstances that governed your life.

Maybe the scars had something to do with it. Whatever the cause, Carol could practically feel Daryl's unspoken feelings radiating off of him.

She swallowed and nodded her head at him, even though he wasn't looking at her.

"You're every bit as good as them, you know?" Carol said. "Every bit."

Daryl glanced at her, then, and didn't immediately flick his eyes away from her. The way he was looking at her, it looked like he was searching out her face to see if she was sincere. It was like he was questioning whether or not she meant what she said.

She absolutely meant it. She meant more than that, even, but she wasn't going to keep talking and keep bothering him. A man like Daryl seemed to like to keep things short and simple and to the point. Seeing that he wasn't looking away from her, and maybe that he was seeking some final reassurance that she'd spoken what she believed was the truth, Carol nodded her head again.

"Every bit," she offered once more.

Daryl looked away from her then and readjusted himself in the bed like he was considering going to sleep. Carol decided that it was best to let him rest. If she was gone for too long, people would wonder why she hadn't come to the dinner table where they were all, more than likely, already enjoying the meal.

Not knowing what drove her to do it, but feeling like she was powerless to fight against the compulsion to do it, Carol leaned down and brushed her lips against Daryl's temple. Immediately her chest tightened at her own movement. She told herself she only wanted to offer him comfort—the same as he'd done for her.

He looked at her, held her eyes for a moment, and then looked away.

"Careful," he said. "I got stitches."

Carol swallowed back some amusement that bubbled up inside of her over his insincere response. She didn't know how to explain the action and he probably didn't know how to take it. It was best to leave it like that, just as Daryl was leaving it, as something that didn't need to be discussed.

"You need your rest," Carol said. "Thank you. Eat your food, Daryl. Before it gets cold?"

She didn't wait to hear him respond. Instead, she left the room and closed the door behind her. Before she headed for the dining room, she leaned against the wall and got herself composed.

She told herself that she'd only offered him the soft brush of her lips for comfort. She'd offered it as thanks.

But even she wasn't sure that she believed herself.


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Just a note on this one: remember that this is AU and not meant to (necessarily) go like the show. We'll see our characters growing in very different ways here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

As soon as Daryl was back on his feet, he surveyed the group to see if anything had changed in the amount of time that Hershel Greene hadn't allowed him to leave his "care". Not much had changed at all. Daryl got something of a "low down" from Dale, and he was disappointed to hear that the "search" for Sophia had basically been like shooting in the dark.

Shane had gone off looking for her some distance away and he'd taken Andrea. It upset Dale and Daryl both, but for different reasons. Dale didn't like that Andrea was out there alone with Shane because he felt that she was still overcoming whatever emotional distress she needed to overcome and Shane didn't seem like a fit role model. Daryl figured that Andrea was adult enough to handle her own shit, but he was upset because they'd gone running off to a place that wasn't even slightly related to the location in which he suspected Sophia to be.

Rick had organized a few "search parties" out of the others and had combed the woods nearby, but he'd come up with nothing. Daryl couldn't help but wonder if that was because he was doing little more than walking here and there and hoping Sophia popped out at him.

Sophia had been surviving out there for a little while now. She was hidden. She wasn't going to be just sitting in plain sight waiting for them to come and get her. She was going to be protecting herself—and the cabinet had already told Daryl that Sophia's idea of protecting herself was keeping herself hidden as much as possible. Likely she was moving once a day. Maybe she stayed in the same location for two days if she found it to be secure. She could backtrack and revisit places, but they had no way of knowing if she did. They didn't know her habits. Or, at least, they didn't know all of them.

What Daryl did know, though, was that Sophia wasn't going to come running up to them screaming for help. She'd likely not know they were there unless they were loudly making their presence known and making sure that Sophia would know who they were, even if she couldn't see them.

They weren't taking the search seriously and Daryl was almost so mad about it that he could see red.

If she was going to get found, he was going to have to be the one who did it—because Rick and Shane, better men than him that they might be, simply couldn't be bothered to do things well. They were too reliant on the way things had once been. But these days there were no good samaritans phoning into the local police department to declare that they'd seen a lost child.

Daryl made his way to the barn and clicked his tongue at one of the horses that was in his stall. The animal huffed at him and finally stepped forward to allow Daryl to brush his fingers over his face and neck. Daryl found a bridle and finally got the horse bridled. It wasn't the asshole that had thrown him, so Daryl figured he'd give this one a chance. He'd head back toward the ridge and he'd look around for shelter in that area.

Once the horse was bridled, Daryl went for a saddle. It was only then that he became aware that he wasn't alone. Standing in the barn, her arms crossed tight across her chest, Carol was watching him.

"What are you doing?" Carol asked.

"Ain't a damn thing gettin' done around here with me laid up on my ass," Daryl said. "Gotta go look for her."

"You need to rest," Carol said. "You've got stitches. A fresh wound, Daryl. You could tear that open. Undo everything that Hershel's done. Make it worse."

"Then I reckon he'll sew it back up again," Daryl mumbled.

He tried to pretend that he wasn't straining against the weight of the saddle, but he couldn't bite back the pain entirely. Carol ran toward him, reaching out for him. Her fingertips brushed his arm as he heaved the saddle up.

"Please!" Carol barked. "You can't go out there. You've got to rest."

Daryl gritted his teeth and stared at her.

"I gotta find her!" Daryl barked at her. "She's been out there too long! I gotta find her!"

"You don't know that you'll find her," Carol yelled back at him, her voice straining against itself. She broke when she said the words, tears trickling down her face.

Daryl felt every one of those tears as surely as if he were swallowing them down like glass shards.

"You don't know nothin'!" Daryl snapped, not expecting the words to come out of his mouth. He wished he could take them back, but once they were out, they were out. "How the hell can you say that?"

Carol stared at him and then she swiped her fingers across her cheeks and under her eyes.

"I don't want to see you get hurt again," Carol said. "You need to rest—and then you can look for her. But if another horse throws you—Daryl you fell down a cliff. You hit your head and Hershel said that...the concussion was bad." She shook her head at him. "I don't want to see you hurt again."

"Ain't gettin' hurt," Daryl said. "Goin' to get Sophia. Your daughter. Hell—somebody's gotta go get her. Rick and Shane ain't even lookin' in the right places and that asshole husband of yours..."

Daryl caught himself again. He stopped short. He couldn't believe the words that seemed to be gushing out of his mouth. It was like his mouth was suddenly a busted pipe and things were running out of it that he hadn't even let himself realize were so close to the surface.

And Carol just stared at him with so much pain on her face that Daryl could feel it. It took his breath away and he didn't like it—he didn't like that look on her face or that she had some strange ability to make him feel what she was feeling. He didn't like that he cared.

"He sure ain't lookin' for her," Daryl said.

"She might not be out there," Carol said. "We might not find her. She might not—Daryl, she might not come back."

"Don't you say that!" Daryl barked at her. "Don't you say that! You're her Ma!"

"I have to say it!" Carol snapped back. "Because I'm her mother! I have to say it because it's true!"

Daryl turned, taking the saddle with him, and put his back to Carol. He couldn't take looking at all that pain on her face any longer. He couldn't stand the sound of her giving up on her little girl because she was losing hope. Like a gushing wound, the hope was running out of her as fast as the words that Daryl wasn't expecting had been running out of him. And he couldn't stand to look at her and see it any longer.

Daryl tried to work his way into the stall with the saddle and growled against the pain of the straining muscles and the wound in his side.

Carol's cool hands wrapped around his arm and she pulled him back.

"Please!" She barked at him. Daryl turned around quickly to look at her. "Please—Daryl! I've lost my daughter. I can't—I can't lose you too."

Daryl couldn't explain the knotting up in his gut that happened, but he could try to pretend that it was related to the injury he'd suffered. It was only pretend, though. He couldn't believe how much he wanted to hear her say the words—even if he'd never realized it before. He couldn't explain how much they meant to him, and he didn't know why they would.

And he couldn't explain how angry they made him feel.

Daryl threw the saddle, putting all of his emotions into the exertion, and doubled over with the pain of overdoing it. Carol immediately rushed toward him and he shoved her off as hard as he could—harder than he meant to.

"Go away you stupid bitch!" He growled at her. "Leave me alone!"

And since it seemed clear that she wasn't going away, Daryl was the one that left, slinking off to nurse the wounds that he feared he'd reopened, just as Carol said he might.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol knew she was taking a bit of a risk by going with Daryl, but Rick had talked Ed into going with him to comb the woods. He'd practically handcuffed Ed and demanded he go. Rick didn't know what Daryl had planned, but he knew that Daryl had tried to take another horse, and he knew that might mean that he got hurt worse than Hershel Greene could handle. So Rick had gone looking for Sophia to appease Daryl and, perhaps, to show that he really was interested in helping find the girl. Ed had gone only because Rick had practically made it an obligation.

They'd been gone at least twenty minutes before Daryl had somewhat shyly approached Carol and asked her if she'd go with him to see something, though he hadn't told her what it was.

Carol followed him out beyond what she considered the border of the farm. They weren't too far beyond that before they arrived at a little pond.

"It's beautiful," Carol announced, seeing the pond. "But—what are we doing here?"

"I wanna show you somethin'," Daryl said. "Come on. I saw it the other day. When I was out lookin' for Sophia."

Carol followed him the rest of the way, and the moment she saw the flowers, her heart throbbed in her chest. She smiled at them and Daryl stopped walking.

"This is what you brought me out here for?" Carol asked.

"Gotta be a sign," Daryl said. "So many of 'em? All growin' in one place?"

Carol stepped forward and touched the petals of one of the Cherokee Roses. Daryl believed in signs—and maybe once upon a time Carol believed in them too—and this was a sign to him.

"It was nice of you to bring me," Carol said.

She glanced out the corner of her eye. Daryl was watching her. Maybe he was waiting for her to say something. Maybe he was waiting for her to say that she'd changed her mind and she was no longer concerned that they'd never find her daughter alive. Whatever it was, having him watch her like that made her pulse kick up a notch. She turned her head in his direction and he quickly looked away to pretend that he'd never been looking at her at all.

"Didn't mean to yell at you like I did today," Daryl said. "Sorry for—what I said."

"You were angry," Carol said. "And you were in pain."

"You don't make excuses for me," Daryl said. "Not like..."

He stopped himself. Carol didn't need to hear the rest of what he was thinking. She already knew. He didn't want to be someone she made excuses for. Ed was someone that she made excuses for. Daryl didn't want to be that. Likely he already knew what it was like to feel that you had to make excuses for someone's bad behavior.

Carol nodded her head and looked at him. He finally let his eyes meet hers.

"I accept your apology," Carol said. "And I'm sorry for—what I said. For what made you angry."

Daryl nodded his head. Carol saw him swallow like his throat was dry. The slight nod was all that she was getting as an acceptance of her own apology, but she took it for what it was.

"You gotta believe she's out there," Daryl said. "You gotta believe I'ma find her."

Carol glanced back at the flowers and then back at Daryl. He was watching her intently. She was almost uncomfortable with the level of attention he was giving her.

"I want to," Carol said. "It's just..."

"Ain't nothin' else to it," Daryl said, cutting her off. "You gotta believe it. Because—right now? You're her Ma. And you're all she's got. So—you gotta believe. You gotta believe in her."

Carol nodded her head. Her chest tightened at his words and she found that she was the one who struggled to swallow.

"OK," she said.

"Good," Daryl said, still staring at her.

"But..." Carol said, hesitating. She thought Daryl stepped a little closer to her. He furrowed his brow at her. He was already expecting her to say something that would disappoint him. She didn't want to disappoint him. She almost felt like she couldn't bear to do such a thing. And she was afraid of that feeling. She was afraid of so many feelings that she hadn't meant to have. She thought better of the words she planned to say, but when he hummed at her in question, she found that she said them anyway almost like her voice didn't even belong to her. "I'm not the only one she has, Daryl. She has you too. I think—you've proven that. She—she has you, too."

It seemed like it was instant.

Daryl's lips were on hers, pressing hard against hers.

Carol's heart thundered in her chest and her mind raced. She should push him away. She should tell him to stop. She should do something dramatic like shove him off and slap his face.

She should do all those things, but instead she opened her lips to deepen the kiss and for a second he responded with _hunger_. It was a hunger that Carol felt coursing through her veins. It filled up her senses and pushed out all the feelings she had that told her that she should run or she should fight.

When Daryl broke the kiss, he stared at her like he was terrified. He panted quietly out of his slightly parted lips and he stared at Carol with wide eyes. She wasn't sure that she looked much different. She felt like she couldn't hear anything except the sound of her own blood in her ears and the sound of Daryl's soft panting sound.

And before she could say anything, and without saying anything himself, Daryl took off. He walked away from her as quickly as his feet would carry him. He headed straight back for the farm at twice the speed he'd used to get them there. Carol watched him go, keeping her spot by the Cherokee Roses. It wasn't until he faded from her sight that she picked up her own steps, her mind still reeling, and started back in the direction she'd travelled before with Daryl just in front of her, her lips still stinging a little from unexpected kiss.


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **There's some allusion to domestic abuse here, and I'll let you know that this is a mostly stream-of-consciousness chapter as both our characters are dealing with what has happened.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol planned to avoid Daryl until she could get her wits about her, and it was pretty clear that he was planning to avoid her as well. By the time she made it back to the camp, he was already gone. Andrea was back with Shane and she told Carol that, even though she and Shane hadn't seen any signs of Sophia's whereabouts, Daryl had said that he was going to use the rest of the day to look for her and he'd gone off, on foot, toward the woods.

Carol kept herself busy. She focused on washing clothes by hand and hanging them out to dry on the clothesline she'd strung up. She washed dishes and she cleaned the RV from top to bottom. She straightened up tents and she offered to help tend the chickens in the nearby coops.

Carol did everything she could to keep her mind busy. She wanted to keep from thinking about the fact that Sophia was still out there. And, now, she wanted to keep from thinking about the fact that she'd kissed Daryl—a man who was absolutely not her wedded husband—and that she'd enjoyed it.

She'd enjoyed it much more than she had any right enjoying such a kiss.

Carol didn't know what was bothering her worse, honestly, the guilt over the kiss even happening, or the fact that she'd enjoyed it so much that she wasn't sure that part of her wasn't hoping that it would happen again.

She was a married woman.

And it was harder than it had ever been before to look at her husband when he returned with Rick and his small search party, all of them empty-handed, and grumbled something about wasting the whole morning chasing shadows and ghosts.

Carol didn't love him. She couldn't recall the last time she'd felt the tug of love for Ed in her chest that had first been there when she'd met him. She couldn't remember what it felt like to care for him. That feeling had left her when she'd realized that he didn't care for her, that he possibly never had, and that he surely never would again.

He had, literally, beaten the feeling out of her. It was gone from her now. It was as lost to her as anything ever had been.

If Carol had ever doubted that she had no feelings—or at least no good feelings—left for her husband, she didn't doubt it now. Not when she could still feel, coursing through her veins, the feeling of desire that she'd thought, honestly, was simply long-dead inside of her. She'd assumed that, with time, maybe that feeling died for everyone. She'd assumed that, with the passing of years, maybe everyone began to see being with their husbands as something that simply had to be done to appease them and their occasional appetites. She'd laid to rest the part of her that had once felt desirable and craved touch, and she'd accepted that it was just something, now, that she would tolerate and, that most times, she'd simply hope that it could be at least somewhat pleasurable.

Ed had accused her of wanting every man she'd seen for years. He'd been jealous, though she'd never given him any reason to be before. His paranoia, Carol had always believed, had been at least partially driven and fed by his own guilt. Carol knew that Ed had had at least two affairs—although short-lived—during their marriage. She'd seen both the women with her own eyes, though never in the act. She'd heard other people whisper about them, knowing full well that Ed had cheated on her. She'd always assumed that Ed's guilt had driven him to fear that she'd treat him just the way he'd treated her and she'd break the vows that they'd exchanged.

And, maybe more than simply being cheated on, Ed feared that Carol would leave him. She didn't believe that he loved her, not anymore, but he didn't want to lose her. Ed had a possessive streak in him that was stronger than most any other emotion he seemed to feel. What was his was simply his—he wanted to keep it, and it extended even to junk that he didn't want anymore. For that reason, he'd had a garage full of stuff that was no longer useful and he'd refused to clean it out because, junk or not, it was his. He didn't want it, but he didn't want to part with it. He didn't want someone else to have it.

Carol had often felt that she was just another piece of junk that Ed had held onto for years because, though he didn't want her, he didn't like the idea of anyone else having her when she'd once belonged to him and, maybe, had even been something he'd somewhat been fond of before.

Whatever feelings caused his paranoia, though, Ed had fallen into the practice of believing that Carol was cheating on him at every turn. Every time he went away, even for an hour or two, she was cheating on him. Every time his back was turned, Carol picked up another man to invite to Ed's bed. He'd wildly thought that she'd had affairs with everyone from the boy who bagged the groceries at the Food Lion to the man who handed out packages off the back of his truck. If a man came into Carol's presence, Ed could find a reason to believe that she was having an affair with him. And if she wasn't having an affair with him, then she was at least thinking about it and plotting how she could get away with making Ed into some kind of asshole that half the town regarded as the fool whose wife was running around with every pair of pants around.

Carol had never once earned his suspicions. She'd never even come close to earning them, but she'd paid for them ten-fold. Since she'd married Ed, she'd barely even been in the same room with another man. A few doctors were the only men besides her husband that had seen her naked and actually put their hands on her. She'd even learned to restrict her thoughts so that she didn't actually ever desire any man she saw.

Until now.

Now her mind was loose from her control and it was running wild. She could do her best to ignore it, but she wasn't sure if she could actually get it back under her control again.

And what was worse was that she was worried about Sophia and she didn't feel right to suddenly have these other thoughts invading her mind, yet there they were and they weren't listening to reason.

When Ed returned to camp, a wave of nausea washed over Carol. She couldn't hear his grumbling over the sound of the voice in her head telling her that he was going to figure her out. Somehow he was going to read her mind. He was going to know what had happened. He'd know that she'd gone with Daryl to see the flowers. He'd know that Daryl had kissed her and he'd know that she'd enjoyed it.

Somehow, Ed was going to know that Carol's body felt like it was yearning all afternoon long to get back where it had been—back close to Daryl. Ed was going to, somehow, be able to read Carol's thoughts. And then he'd know that even if he hadn't ever been right before, he was right now.

Carol didn't love him any longer and she was thinking about another man.

She was so wrapped up in thinking about him, in fact, that it felt like a fever that was threatening her sanity. And the more she tried to will it away, the hotter it burned.

Carol stayed close to Ed for the remainder of the afternoon. She made him a special lunch and she poured him drinks into a glass she found in the RV from the provisions he hid in the back of their car. Throughout the afternoon, Carol treated Ed like a king as though she might, somehow, keep him from reading her mind.

And even Carol knew how crazy her thoughts were because Ed was none the wiser about the kiss. For all his previous paranoia about her unfaithfulness, Ed proved quite unable to sense anything that had actually happened anywhere outside the realm of his imagination.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl had never kissed a woman like Carol before.

He'd kissed women before, of course, but never women like Carol. The women he'd kissed were usually rougher around the edges. They weren't as interested in him as they'd been interested in the fact that he was Merle's younger brother. Some of them had even been cast-offs of his brother and they'd thought it was amusing to fuck around with Daryl because they saw him as somehow softer and more innocent than his brother.

It was Merle's fucking fault—always calling Daryl the sweet one.

Maybe Daryl was the sweet one. Maybe he was a great deal different than his brother. Because he'd kissed a couple of those women, but he'd never really wanted them. He'd never really wanted what they had to offer him and he'd never really wanted to offer them anything.

He'd never thought about something more with them—nothing substantial.

Yet here he was, knee high in stinking creek mud, and he was thinking about a woman that he'd been thinking about for longer than he cared to admit. He was thinking about her tears—how much they tore at his chest every time he saw them trickling down her cheeks. He was thinking about her smile—and how he wished he could do the one damn thing that would guarantee that it stayed on her lips for longer than the split second it seemed to take reality to knock it back off every time he'd seen it before.

He was thinking about her lips—warm and soft beneath his.

He wanted her lips back on his, but he didn't dare to think about it too much because if he did? He'd start thinking about her lips—really thinking about them—and then he might not stop.

What the hell was he thinking anyway?

Merle might've been wrong. Or, rather, the phantom of his brother might've been wrong. Carol might not think of him as pure redneck white trash. She might, even, think rather highly of him—after all she'd delicately pressed her lips to his forehead the other night and those lips hadn't exactly been running away from him when she'd parted them to let him taste her mouth by the rosebush.

But she was _married_. She was married and her husband was right there in the very same camp with Daryl. She was spending every night in the man's tent. She was sleeping with him and waking up with him in the morning. She'd said vows to the man.

Vows that he hadn't respected very much. Vows that Daryl could only consider broken by him on more than one occasion since Daryl had known his sorry ass.

Ed Peletier didn't deserve the woman that had married him, but she was married to him.

Unless, like Daryl thought was right, marriage didn't really count if both parties didn't live up to their end of the deal.

He was no better than Shane.

Slogging his way through creek mud, the strain of his movements tugging at his muscles and at the injury that Hershel had sewn up for him, Daryl called out desperately for Sophia. Again and again he yelled out her name, but the girl didn't come. Even if she heard him, she wasn't coming out. And he kept desperately calling her name out because it was the only word that he could say for the time being.

He feared, if he tried to say anything else, he might just hear himself calling out Carol's name. He might simply test her name out on his tongue to see what it tasted like when he called it out. And he might end up liking the taste of it so much that it drove him fucking mad.

Daryl was no better than Shane, and he was starting to wonder if he understood, now, where Shane was coming from. Maybe, if Shane felt like Daryl felt at that moment, Daryl couldn't fault him for what he'd done. The sensation inside of him felt like it might drive him insane or kill him—or both. It was like something was burning inside him—like she was burning inside him—and there was nothing and no way to douse the fire.

But Daryl didn't dare to put a name to the feeling.

And he wasn't going to force Carol's hand.

Ed didn't deserve her, and she certainly didn't deserve anything that Ed did to her, but Daryl wasn't going to force her hand. He wasn't going to say anything or do anything that would get her hurt. He wasn't going to let on to anyone about how he felt inside when she was around him.

He wasn't going to be the one that made Ed hurt her.

He'd rather burn up, until there was nothing left of him, than be the one that caused her that kind of pain.

The only thing that managed to draw Daryl's attention away from his suffering, even the slightest little bit, was when he saw something that he didn't expect to see. Slipping up the far side of the bank, just down the creek from where he was wading and praying for some kind of miracle, Daryl saw a series of small tracks in the mud. He made his way over to the tracks and studied them. He touched the mud. It was drying in the sun, hardening around the edges, and the slow trickle of water had washed away the lower tracks, but others remained.

Daryl stared at them.

Small feet had made the prints. Small feet and fingers. The tracks were too precise to be made by a Walker since they were creatures that grabbed and groped and blindly yanked at things. A Walker would've gotten stuck, unable to pick their feet up in quite the right manner to get through the mud—they'd have dragged their feet until they were just stuck. Good and stuck. But the small person who'd scrambled up the bank, all hands and feet, had known how to not get stuck. The small person who had made the prints, probably not even hours before, was used to navigating the creek by now.

Daryl called her name once more, but he got an odd sensation that she wasn't coming out—though he'd never felt she was as close as he did at that moment.


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl meant to keep his promise to himself to not cause trouble between Ed and Carol. He'd do his best to keep anything from happening that would blow back badly on Carol. But he couldn't leave his newest discovery a secret—not when he knew, even more strongly than he'd known before, that Sophia was out there and she could be found.

He just might need a hand at finding her.

Daryl searched around for Sophia a little longer after finding the footprints and handprints in the mud, but she was either too scared to come out or she was somewhere, having tucked herself away, where she couldn't hear him when he called. It would be getting dark soon, and Daryl was sure that she'd hide herself away for the hours when all children knew things went bump in the dark, but at least he could make it back to the farm in time to let it be known that he was pretty positive he'd pinpointed her whereabouts—at least more or less.

Carol would sleep well, if nothing else, knowing that Sophia was absolutely out there and they'd probably find her with the morning's first light.

Daryl practically ran back to the farm, fueled by the excitement he felt over the tracks, but finding Carol proved to be almost as difficult as finding her daughter. When he finally found her, he found her stealing eggs away from the sitting hens in the coop. Apparently she was collecting them for Hershel, otherwise he doubted she'd be so bold as to take as many as she had in her basket.

"I gotta talk to you!" Daryl barked as he reached her, his breath coming out ragged.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Carol remarked from inside the coop. "I—I know we need to talk but, I'm not sure—I don't think I can. Not right now."

Daryl's stomach knotted up as his brain caught up with him and reminded him that they might have a great deal to talk about. For just a moment, he'd put everything else aside in the burst of excitement he felt over having something so very concrete that pointed to the fact that Sophia was wandering about in the woods surrounding them.

Daryl swallowed.

"We might oughta talk about that, too," Daryl said. "But—this ain't about that. This is about Sophia."

Carol stopped worrying with eggs and hens. She came out of the large coop quickly, carrying the basket, and she closed the coop door behind her.

"What?" She asked, clearly having put aside everything else, just as Daryl had, to make room for the news of her daughter. She immediately furrowed her brow at Daryl, her brain probably jumping to some of the worst possible conclusions.

Daryl eyed her basket of eggs. He reached a hand over and caught the handle of the basket. He pulled it free from her grasp and she let go of it when she realized that he had full intention to take it away from her.

"Don't wanna drop these," Daryl said. "Especially not when I tell you what I found."

"What'd you find?" Carol asked. She barked out the question. She expected an answer that was going to shock her and maybe even send her to her knees, but she was clearly not expecting it to be happy news.

Daryl laughed to himself.

He could almost forget the kiss and the feelings it had left inside of him, gnawing away at his gut, in the light of the look on her face—and the look he knew would replace it.

"I know she's out there," Daryl said. "She is. Maybe—two miles from here."

Carol frowned at him.

"You've been saying that, Daryl," Carol said. "But..."

"But nothin'," Daryl interrupted. "Know for sure..."

Before Daryl could finish what he intended to say and tell Carol about the prints that he'd seen leading up the bank of the creek, he and Carol were both surprised by an outburst of yelling coming from the nearby barn. It was impossible to ignore the sound, even if it was equally impossible to understand what was being yelled. The only word that either of them understood, and they both responded to it at the same time by breaking into a run toward the barn, was "Walkers".

As they reached the barn, Daryl looked around for the Walkers in question. He couldn't see any, though. All he could see were Rick and Shane yelling at each other, both looking like they were seconds away from locking up together and coming to blows.

Slowly a crowd was forming around them. Everyone had heard the yelling, and maybe they'd even heard the keyword that made them all spring to action, and they'd all come running to see what was happening.

Nobody looked any less confused than Daryl felt except for maybe Glenn—and the Korean wasted little time leaping into the brawl that was brewing up between Rick and Shane, throwing in his two cents that Daryl understood even less than he understood the rest of the fuss.

"The fuck is goin' on here?" Daryl asked, stepping somewhat into the fight and trying to break it up himself.

"He's got Walkers in the barn!" Shane yelled.

Daryl's blood ran cold.

"The hell you talkin' about?" He barked back at Shane.

"It's Hershel," Glenn said. "Hershel has Walkers in the barn."

The repetition of such an alarming piece of information stirred everyone up. Suddenly everyone had an opinion on what to do about the Walkers that were apparently in the barn, and most of them felt the need to throw out their opinions all at once so that everyone's words got lost in the din of too many sounds.

"What the hell do you mean?" Daryl asked, this time directing his question to Rick. "If there's Walkers in there, let's get 'em out."

"It's not that simple, OK?" Rick responded.

"What do you mean, man?" Shane shot back. "It's not that simple? It's not that damn complicated! He's got Walkers in the barn! They're right here. They're right on top of us! They're right next to where we sleep!"

"They're locked up!" Glenn interjected. "They're locked up. Hershel believes they're sick."

"He knows them," Rick said. "They were his family. Neighbors. He believes they're people."

"They were people!" Shane yelled back. "They were people and now they're...now they're creatures! They're things!"

"He wants us to leave them alone," Dale said. "He wants us to leave them locked up in the barn."

"Why the hell would we do that?" Daryl asked, still not sure he understood much of anything that was taking place at the moment.

"Hershel has them locked up," Rick said. "He says they've been in there. They can't get out."

"He's feeding them," Glenn said.

"What the fuck?!" Daryl spat.

"Listen—we can't stay here with a barn full of Walkers, Rick!" Shane yelled. "It isn't safe! So we gotta clean the barn out!"

"We can't clean it out!" Rick yelled back, clearly growing ever more annoyed with Shane's insistence. "Hershel won't allow it. He says either we leave the Walkers alone, or we move on."

"Then we move the fuck on!" Shane responded. "We pack it all up. We leave right now. We don't need them eating people in their sleep! You want that? Right here—right where you sleep? Right where Lori and Carl sleep?"

"They're not getting out," Rick said. "They're not eating anyone. We don't have to go right now."

"We can't go!" Carol interjected. Daryl nearly reached out to grab her as she darted past him to practically put herself physically between Rick and Shane, but he held himself back from intervening. "We can't go! Sophia's still out there!"

"Carol—Sophia is...she's...well...she's..." Shane stammered. He stopped speaking for a moment. Carol was standing in front of him shaking her head at him. He seemed unable to say anything, but he quickly regained control of his mouth again. "I think it's time to start considering the fact that Sophia might not be out there. She might not be coming back."

"The hell you say!" Daryl responded quickly, his ears practically burning with the words. He saw them hit Carol like a slap in the face. She could hear it from Ed because Ed was the kind of asshole that had no problem saying shit like that, but she didn't need to hear it from others too. Especially not when Daryl knew it wasn't so.

"I've been sayin' that for days!" Ed barked. "Girl's dead. She's been dead. She ain't never had the damn sense to live out there. We're wastin' our time here. If those things are in the barn? We're better off moving on."

"No!" Carol screamed at him. She turned and screamed the same word at Shane and then at Rick, even though he hadn't offered any words on moving on.

"She's out there!" Daryl yelled. "She's out there! I found her damn doll!"

"A doll, Daryl! That's what it was! You found a doll!" Shane shot back at him. "It's been more than forty-eight hours. Everybody knows that after forty-eight hours, we aren't looking for a child anymore, we're looking for a body. That's what we're looking for. A body. And you found a doll."

Daryl couldn't even look at Carol because he was afraid to see the expression on her face. He was afraid to know how the words were affecting her. He could stand the sting of anything that Shane said to him—the man couldn't hurt him like he thought he could—but he couldn't stand the sting of seeing Carol absorb it all.

"I found her damn tracks today!" Daryl barked. "In the woods—I found her damn tracks. Whole set of 'em!"

"Some footprints," Shane responded.

"Footprints could come from anyone," Ed said. "Any of those damn things out there wandering around."

"They were Sophia's!" Daryl yelled at Ed. He wasn't afraid of the man and he was almost challenging him to try something with him. A punch thrown in his direction would open the door for Daryl to lay into him just the way he wanted at that moment—and without guilt. After all, even Hershel Greene couldn't expect a man not to defend himself.

"As one of those damn things!" Ed yelled back.

"Even if she was out there," Shane said. "What makes you think she'd come to you? Even if you came up on her tracks, Daryl? What makes you think she'd come to you? When's the last time you even saw yourself, man? You're half-wild. Filthy. Covered in mud and you look like you're a step off from being one of those creatures too. If she saw you coming? She'd run the other way. That's the only way you'd find her tracks."

Daryl gritted his teeth against Shane's insult. He wasn't sure that the man was entirely wrong, but he also knew that Shane wasn't really pissed off at him. And now, Daryl thought he could back up a minute and consider what was really driving Shane's reactions. It wasn't his anger at Daryl. It wasn't his feelings about Sophia. He couldn't care less about either one of them. Shane was really pissed because he saw the barn full of contained Walkers as a threat to Lori and Carl.

And Daryl didn't have the time or the energy to deal with Shane's issues—he had enough of his own.

"You don't know a damn thing!" Daryl yelled at Shane. "I saw her damn tracks today. She's out there."

"She's out there," Ed responded, picking up Daryl's words. "She's out there as one of them things! She ain't alive. She weren't alive the first night she was out there. We were out there today. We didn't see anything. Sophia's just gone. I knew her! She couldn't've survived no way—too damn much like her Mama. Too damn weak. If we're out there looking, we're looking for one of those creatures. We're just wasting our time!"

Carol was the first to leave the scene. Daryl glanced at her. Her movement caught his attention and drew it away from the yelling around him. He held himself back from calling out her name. He held himself back from running after her when she took off across the farm. He waited to see if anyone else would go. He waited to see if the man who called himself her husband—the man who called himself her partner in life—would go after her to comfort her.

He didn't go, of course, because he was the one who had dealt her the verbal blow that had sent her off to lick her wounds.

"Fuck you all," Daryl muttered. "Believe me or you don't, but Sophia's out there. And she ain't dead. She's alive! You don't look in the right damn places! Go where you want her to be instead of looking to see where the hell she wanted to go. She's alive! And we can't leave 'til she's back and that's all the hell there is to it!"

Ed spat something else that Daryl missed and turned. He left, walking back in the direction of the tent where he spent much of his time. Rick caught Shane by the shoulders and shook his head at him.

"We need more time," Rick said. "A few more days. The Walkers have been in there the whole time we were here and we're fine. Everyone's fine. A few more days isn't going to hurt anything. We leave the Walkers where they are. In the barn."

"It ain't right, man," Shane said, "and you know it. You're going to be sorry if they get out. You're going to be sorry if..."

"Yeah, I am," Rick said, interrupting him.

Daryl, seeing that Ed was headed for his favorite spot and seeing that nothing was going to be definitively resolved for a while because Rick and Shane were locked up in another of their long-term pissing contents, left the barn before he had to hear any more of the discussion. He had nothing more to say, and there wasn't anything else that he needed to hear.

Rick would win this. They'd get a couple more days.

And that was all he needed.

But first, he needed to find Carol.


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl had a hunch about where he might find Carol when she ended up not being back at the coop where he'd found her before. He avoided their little camp altogether, walked the long way around the backside of the farm, and found Carol at the pond where the Cherokee Roses grew with abandon. When he found her, she was sitting on the ground with her back to him, staring at the roses. He didn't try to quieten his steps, but she didn't turn as he approached her.

"Walker could sneak up on you out here," Daryl said. "They can come through them woods. There ain't fences back there."

"I don't think I'd care," Carol responded, her back still to Daryl. "Still—I knew you weren't a Walker."

"You might know I'm not," Daryl said. "But you couldn't know it was me that was behind you. Not without looking."

Carol looked at him then. When he'd been out in the creek, ass-deep in muddy water, he'd imagined her to have a very different expression on her face at this time of the evening. He'd expected her to be happy and full of hope. Instead, her face was tear-streaked and she looked about as low as he'd seen her since Sophia had first gone over the rail and disappeared into the woods.

"Maybe they're right," Carol said. "Maybe Shane's right. She's been out there so long—maybe it's time that we just admit that maybe she's not out there. Or if she's out there? Maybe she's not Sophia anymore."

Daryl closed the short distance between himself and Carol. He offered her a hand and when she didn't take it, he wiggled his fingers at her and offered the hand once more. Finally she reached out and let him help her to her feet.

He swallowed against the swollen feeling in his throat.

"Shane weren't right," Daryl said. "Ed ain't right. Ain't none of 'em right. Maybe before you was lookin' for a body after forty-eight hours, but that don't mean it's always true. Just means that's how the hell cops done it."

"That was their job," Carol said.

"So?" Daryl responded. "Hell—I've known plenty people sucked at their jobs. Cops can too. And if they that quick to give up? I been lost as long as Sophia before."

Carol laughed ironically to herself.

"And maybe you have a little more ability to survive in the woods than Sophia does," Carol said. She shook her head. "I wasn't exactly teaching her how to survive on her own in the wild."

Daryl hummed and shook his head.

"Maybe you weren't," Daryl said. "But you were teachin' her to survive. Didn't nobody take me out and teach me shit before I got lost. Merle? He taught me a thing or two, but only after I got lost that time. He come back from wherever the hell he was and I told him what happened. If I hadn't? He wouldn'ta even known I was gone. He taught me some things then. He learned from our grandfather 'fore the old man died. But when I got lost the first time? It weren't knowing nothing special that kept me alive. It was just—the will to live. That's what the hell keeps us doing just that. Living."

Carol frowned deeply.

"What if he is right?" Carol asked. She shook her head. "God—I don't even want to think about it. But it's all I can think about."

Daryl sucked in a breath.

"I didn't even get to tell you what the hell I found out there," Daryl said.

"Tracks," Carol said. "You found tracks. I heard you when you told them."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Found her tracks," Daryl said. "Not two miles from here. Right in that creek where I knew she'd be. Stayin' close to the water."

"Anybody could've made those tracks, Daryl," Carol said. "Anything."

"Was a small damn anybody who made 'em," Daryl said. "And they weren't Walker tracks, if that's what they got you thinking."

"How can you be so sure?" Carol asked. "How can you know that? I don't want you to tell me what you think I want to hear, Daryl. I'm past that now. I just want the truth."

Daryl nodded his understanding. He did understand, too, where she was coming from. Everywhere she turned, someone was slapping her with the possibility that her daughter was no longer alive. The person who meant more to her in the world than her own self was missing and people were telling her that she ought to come to terms with the fact that the little girl might never be returned to her. What everyone failed to realize was that Carol was probably the first of them all who had come to terms with that. Even if it wasn't something she wanted, she'd been willing to accept it.

The blow, otherwise, would be too hard for her to take. She had to start, from the beginning, preparing her heart to be ripped in two and keep on beating.

She thought Daryl would tell her what she wanted to hear just to placate her and make her feel better. He surely felt driven to do that, but he wasn't going to do that. He couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to her. Building her up just for the sake of building her up would do nothing except make sure that she fell farther if she had to come down.

He shook his head at her.

"You got my word," he said. "I wouldn't tell you this if I didn't think it was true. Them weren't Walker tracks. I might not be a hundred percent certain they were Sophia's—because I guess there could be some other kid out there a couple of miles away—but I can promise you that they weren't Walker tracks. Walkers? They walk pretty stiff. They don't move like we do. Move clumsy. Grab at things. Drag their hands across whatever they touch. They got no fine motor skills."

"I know that," Carol said, blowing some of her breath out as she said the words. She was trying to get control of her emotions. She was trying to push out any residual sadness that was lingering from what Shane and Ed had thrown at her outside the barn.

"They don't climb, neither," Daryl said. "Might can shuffle up something if it isn't too steep, but they don't climb. They move forward. Keep plowing forward until they get up whatever they're trying to get up. These tracks? They were climbing tracks. They weren't clumsy. They were precise. Careful. The person that scrambled up that bank knew what they were doing and they'd done it before. Went up right there on purpose. Done it good, too. One foot only slipped once and sent 'em right back down where they were. They caught themselves, too."

Carol stared at the ground a moment and digested what Daryl had said. Then she brought her eyes back up to him. Her eyes were clearing up now, but there were still splashes of tears dotting her lower lashes. Daryl watched them for a moment, noticing that they seemed to glitter where they caught the light that would soon fail them entirely.

"Where's she at?" Carol asked softly. "If the tracks were there? Where's she at?"

Daryl shook his head.

"I don't know that," Daryl said. "But I got some ideas. Maybe—Shane weren't so wrong about everything." Carol furrowed her brow at him. "She don't come to me when I call. I know when I was calling—at least I think I know—that she could hear me. But she weren't comin' out from wherever she is. Either she couldn't hear me, or he was right. She won't come to me. Scared of me."

"Sophia wouldn't be scared of you," Carol said.

"She's got no real reason not to be," Daryl offered. "I don't say it for sympathy or for you to tell me I'm wrong but—Shane was right about that. Look at me—I'm filthy and I...there's a good damn chance she don't wanna come to me. Don't trust me."

Carol shook her head at him.

"No," she said, but she didn't offer a compelling reason why her daughter might to come him—a man she barely knew beyond their time at the camp. And even then, Daryl could admit that hadn't always been friendly to the girl. He hadn't been unfriendly to her, but he'd kept his distance from her. She was a kid, and some people didn't like you talking to their kids. Took it wrong. Things could be especially tricky if the kid belonged to a man like Ed Peletier.

Daryl had thought about him, too, while he was in the woods.

"There was another reason she might not have come to me," Daryl said. "While I was callin' for her."

"Why?" Carol asked.

"Ed was out there with Rick an' them. They got pretty close to where it was I found the tracks. I could track them for at least a mile. None of them were walking easy. She mighta heard them. It mighta been them that spooked her. Sent her lookin' for somewhere to hold up," Daryl said.

"There's no telling what she might've heard," Carol said. She sucked in her breath and covered her hand with her mouth. "There's no telling what—what might've been said."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Figured she might not come to—might not want to come out if..." Daryl stammered and stumbled over his own words. He didn't want to come right out and say what he was thinking, but Carol was looking at him like she expected him to finish his statement. He stopped and swallowed, thinking it over before he spoke again. She wasn't going to let him go without finishing what he had to say. "There—any chance she might not come out to her old man?"

Carol frowned deeply. Daryl saw her struggle to swallow. He saw her features draw up like she might cry, but she quickly got them under control again and her face relaxed except for one lone tear that escaped her eye. She brushed it away with her fingertips and nodded her head.

"Sophia might not come to her father," Carol said remorsefully.

Daryl was struck at how bluntly she said it, though—especially when she'd been so adamant only moments before that her daughter would come to Daryl even if he was covered in blood and mud and everything else unsavory.

He decided not to rub salt in her wounds and make her talk about it any further, though. His point had been made that simply.

"But she'd come to her Ma," Daryl offered softly. "Quicker than anything else? Sophia'd come to her Ma."

Carol looked at him. She shook her head.

"I don't know how to find her," Carol said.

"But if you was to come with me," Daryl said, "then I could do the finding. You just do the mothering." He shook his head. "I know—he might not allow it. I know you might not be able to do it. And—maybe I can just take Andrea. Get her to go out there with me. Call for Sophia. See if—a soft voice might be more what she's hopin' to hear. She'd prob'ly come to Andrea. I'd take Lori but—they'd never let her out of their sight. Andrea—I could get Dale to let me take her."

"No," Carol said quickly. "No. I want to go."

"What about Ed?" Daryl asked.

"I'll handle Ed," Carol said.

"I don't want you..." Daryl started. He couldn't finish it, though, and Carol made it so that he didn't have to. She shook her head at him.

"I'll tell him I have to do it," Carol said. "I'll do it whether—he likes it or not." She shook her head again. "Whatever he does? Whatever he says? I can live with that. But I can't keep living just—wondering if Sophia's out there. I have to know where my daughter is. No matter what? I have to know!"

Daryl might not have responded to her in the way that he did if he'd taken time to think about his words, but he didn't take time to consider them. Instead, his words just ran out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"You be careful with him," Daryl urged. It wasn't until they were out there that Daryl realized that, no matter how much he might think them, it wasn't really his place to say them.

Carol didn't scold him for the words, though. She just smiled at him. Then she walked away from him and walked over to the Cherokee Roses. She pinched one of the flower petals between her fingertips. Then she moved her hand and carefully plucked one of the flowers free. She held it in her palm and examined it. Finally, she came back over to Daryl and looked at him like she was trying to see straight through his eyes and back into his mind.

"Did you mean to kiss me?" Carol asked.

Daryl swallowed.

"You didn't want me to," Daryl said. "And I shouldn'ta done it."

Carol shook her head.

"That wasn't what I asked," she said. "Did you mean to kiss me?"

Daryl swallowed again. Everything inside of him was screaming. He could barely hear her speaking for the screaming inside of his body. Not only had he meant to kiss her, but if she kept looking at him like that, he might just up and do it again.

He felt like he had very little control against it.

He nodded his head.

She nodded her head gently in return and the corners of her lips danced upward for a second before she straightened them out again. Then she leaned toward him.

He felt what she was going to do before she ever did it. He felt like she was drawing him into her with a magnet of some sort. It was like they were connected together. He moved to meet her, but he couldn't really say that he'd done it by choice. He'd been compelled, by something invisible to the naked eye, to move closer.

And she pressed her lips gently against his before she pulled away slightly and then dived back in. The second kiss was just a little harder than the first and as she pulled away, she nipped his lip with her teeth.

Daryl felt like he had no air at all when she pulled away. When she'd taken her lips away from his, she'd also taken all the air he had to breathe.

"Thank you," she said softly.

And then, without waiting on him and without saying anything else, Carol dropped the small rose that she'd been toying with and walked away—back in the direction of the farm.

Without knowing why he did it, much like he felt he'd been doing almost everything these days, Daryl reached down and picked up the discarded rose. He smelled it, turned it over in his hands, and tucked it in his pocket before he headed back to camp as well. It would wilt, and he'd surely toss it in the fire that evening to return it to nature as ashes, but for just a moment he wanted to hold something of Carol and the rose would have to do.


	28. Chapter 28

**Carol "covered her hand with her mouth". That's some trick, and yes I wrote that. LOL Sorry, I didn't catch it until later from the last chapter. These things happen sometimes.**

 **Anyway, here's another chapter. Admittedly this one is much longer than usual, but there was nowhere to cut this one.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

There were several houses that weren't too far from the place in the creek where Daryl found Sophia's tracks. All the houses were in different directions from the creek, even though they were all on the side where Sophia had scrambled up out of the water. Daryl felt sure that the girl was in one of the houses, but the only way to know which was simply to search them all.

Having a definite plan in place made Daryl move quicker through his morning than he normally would. He didn't worry about what it seemed the rest of the camp was planning or not planning to do with their day. Whether or not they all sat on their asses, he was headed to the woods. After breakfast, he packed a bag with a few supplies and waited out by the pond for Carol. He'd only briefly spoken to her over breakfast, and that was to let her know that he'd give her roughly half an hour to meet him there. If she could safely get away from Ed and away from the camp, then she was going with him. If she couldn't, he'd circle back to make sure that all was well and he'd pick up Andrea to drag her along with him.

Without a watch, none of them were entirely certain what half an hour was, but Daryl hadn't had to wait long after breakfast before he saw Carol coming toward him. She was double timing her steps and was only a little bit away from breaking into a full trot. Daryl got up from the spot where he was seated and he'd greeted her.

All she'd told him was that she'd left camp. She was going with him. He assumed that meant that she left without telling Ed where she was going, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. Carol was determined to go and Daryl wanted her to go. If that meant that the whole camp had to deal with Ed later—well, then so be it.

They moved quickly and quietly through the woods. They didn't talk about Ed. They didn't talk about the kisses that they'd shared. They didn't want to draw Walkers and there was nothing to say at the moment about any of it. The focus was on finding Sophia and, with any luck, finding her even before those at the camp were worried about what they were going to eat for lunch. At the first of the houses, Daryl and Carol had gone in together. With Carol sticking close behind him, guarding silence until he told her to speak, Daryl had cleared the house. There'd been one Walker in the house and nobody else. Carol had walked through the house, calling out Sophia's name, while Daryl had stuck his head in every room to make sure that Sophia wasn't hiding somewhere where she might not be able to hear them.

The second house had turned out to be equally as empty. It hadn't even offered up the one Walker. Daryl, then, had begun to wonder if Sophia might be so scared of everything she'd endured while missing that she didn't trust what she was hearing ad wouldn't dare to come out. As they'd searched the second house, Carol walking through the house calling out to her daughter. Daryl had searched every room and, for good measure, had searched every closet and cabinet he could find as well.

Still, the house had turned up empty and they'd headed on toward the next of the houses that Daryl had identified as being well within Sophia's probable trajectory.

By the time they got to the third house, though, they didn't need to exchange conversation for Daryl to see that Carol's hopes were sinking. Her shoulders sagged and a deep frown had begun to take over her entire face.

Daryl wanted to promise her that they'd find the girl, but he didn't dare to do such a thing. He wanted it to be true, but if it wasn't? Promising Carol something like that would only crush her and, beyond that, it would take away whatever credibility Daryl might have with her. He wanted her to trust him. He didn't want her to think of him as a man who made false promises.

The front door of the third house was locked. Daryl's stomach sunk a little as he realized that it wouldn't open. The other houses had been open. Whoever had lived there had either left them that way, not worried about what might happen to their belongings in light of what was happening around them, or else they'd died inside without ever bothering to lock themselves in. The locked door suggested to Daryl that they might find the original owners of the home inside or they might simply find that they'd left and locked the door behind them—there would be nothing inside except the belongings they'd believed that they would one day return to claim.

Daryl didn't say anything about the lock to Carol, though. He didn't bother with picking it, either, since he didn't imagine there was any need for locked doors these days. He broke the lock and pushed the door open, letting it swing open in front of him. Nothing came for them immediately. There were no owners, dead or alive, jumping out at them.

Inside, Daryl looked around the living room. It was a nice house. It was quaint and comfortable. It was the kind of place he could imagine seeing on a television show—especially on the network they used to pick up with tinfoil and rabbit ears that had so many warm and inviting homes where people lived out their happily-ever-afters. It looked to be fairly untouched, though. There wasn't a lot of evidence that the house had been rifled through. There weren't any immediate signs of struggle. Daryl made his way into the kitchen and looked around. A few cabinet doors were left ajar, evidence maybe of packing, and there was the traditional horrible smell that came from rotting food left behind, but otherwise the kitchen was in order. Daryl walked over to one of the cabinets, opened it, and slammed it shut hard.

He saw Carol jump at the sound and he muttered an apology.

"They'll come to the noise," Daryl said. "If they in here."

Carol nodded her head. Her response was to the noise was to reach up and beat her hand on the wall. She beat her hand several times on the wall, loudly enough to call up any Walkers in at least the lower level, but nothing came.

Nothing came and nothing growled at them. Nothing moved. The house was still. They were the only two living—or non-living—beings there.

Carol sighed.

"Sophia?!" She called out. "Sophia? It's Mama. Sweetheart?! Sophia? Are you here?"

Her voice faded out with the calling. With each word, it got a little weaker. It ended, finally, almost in a whimper. Daryl saw the exact moment that it became too much for Carol. She backed up against the very wall that she'd been beating on and she dropped down, sliding down the wall, as her knees bent to allow her to make her way to the floor.

And there, crumpled against the wall, she cried.

"Please don't do that," Daryl said, swallowing against the ache it caused in his throat. "It—we ain't gettin' nowhere with that."

"We aren't getting anywhere as it is!" Carol yelled at Daryl through her tears.

"We ain't even searched the house yet," Daryl said.

"Daryl—what's the use?" Carol asked. "If Sophia was here..."

"She could be hiding," Daryl said. "Hell—you don't know. We don't know. She's got a million damn things to be scared of. Could be sleeping and can't hear us. Tucked away some damn where. Could be—could be so damn scared she don't know if she trusts what she's hearing. Could be—could be anything."

"Could be that she's not here," Carol said.

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"Could be that too," he said softly. "But this ain't the last house."

Carol sighed. She was drying up her tears a little, but Daryl knew that she was only doing it for his benefit. She wasn't drying them up because she suddenly felt any less hopeless about the situation. Daryl offered her a hand and she took it. He pulled her to her feet and stepped toward her, shifted by the weight of her, when she reached standing. Close to her, Daryl's breath hitched.

They hadn't talked about the kisses, but he hadn't stopped thinking about them. He hadn't stopped thinking about her. Standing this close to her, he could feel the warmth of her body. This close to her, he could smell her sweat. He could smell her. If it wouldn't have horrified both of them, he was close enough that he could have licked her face. He could've tasted the saltiness of her tears. And the most horrifying thing to Daryl was that his brain suggested to him that he might want to do just that.

He might simply enjoy knowing just what Carol tasted like. After all, he'd only tasted her mouth.

Daryl swallowed and pulled away from Carol, his heart pounding.

"You wanna—we oughta do something," Daryl stammered out.

Carol nodded her head, staring at him.

"Yeah," she said.

Daryl shook his head gently. He laughed to himself, his nerves drawing his stomach up in fits.

"If we don't? I can't stand here like this," Daryl said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't think what I think, but I think it just the same. And standing here? With you just..."

Daryl reached out his hand and brushed it down Carol's side, demonstrating how close she was to him. She didn't back up, though, and she didn't run away horrified at the thought that he was possibly thinking things that it wasn't right to think. She simply stared at him, her throat bobbing, and she opened her lips a little.

Daryl could hear her breath escaping and the rise and fall of her chest suggested that she was breathing a little too quickly for a normal intake of breath.

"I'm sorry," Daryl said. "We ain't—we ain't found her yet—and I'm sorry. But we're gonna...keep looking. Gonna find her."

Daryl only meant to wipe the tear from her cheek, but as soon as he touched her face he couldn't help but hold his hand against her cheek. And then he couldn't help but kiss her. And as soon as he'd allowed his body that much pleasure, it was like he was overtaken with the need to search out more. He stepped toward her and she matched his steps, stepping backward, so that the very wall that had caught her before caught her again, this time a little differently.

"Jesus!" Daryl spat, pulling away from her. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Carol said, touching her fingers to her lips. "I am but—I'm not."

"I just want to—do it again," Daryl said. "And I don't know why. But fuck if I can stop myself from wanting to. I just wanna make you feel better, and I know that ain't the way but...my stupid ass head don't seem to know that."

Carol looked at him and gnawed her bottom lip.

"I'm married," Carol said.

"I know," Daryl said. "And that don't make it no better. I'm sorry, but you're married to a fuckin' asshole." Daryl shook his head at her. "It ain't my place to say, but you coulda done a hell of a lot better than that."

"I could have found—someone like you?" Carol asked. She raised an eyebrow at Daryl almost in challenge.

Daryl swallowed. His chest tightened up.

"I know," he said. "I ain't shit. But—you coulda done better'n somebody like me, too."

Carol stepped forward and kissed him softly. His stomach fluttered at the gentle touch of her lips. She kissed the side of his face and then she pressed her face against him like she wanted to rest there for a moment, her hand holding his neck.

"I don't think I could've done better than you," Carol said. "I'm not sure—anybody could."

"Leave him," Daryl breathed out, not sure what drove him to say it.

Carol laughed quietly to herself. She pulled away from Daryl and looked at him.

"Are you serious?" She asked. The humor left her features. "You're serious," she said. Daryl assumed that his face probably gave him away. He'd never been more serious about anything in his life, even though he had absolutely no idea how something like that might work or what it might turn into. "How?"

"Just do it," Daryl said. He swallowed against the ache in his throat. Suddenly, without ever having entertained it before, it seemed that the one thing he wanted more than anything else was for Carol to tell him that she would leave Ed. "Just—tell him you done."

"He'd kill me," Carol said. "There isn't exactly anywhere to go."

Daryl shook his head at her.

"I wouldn't let him kill you," Daryl said. "Even if—even if you didn't want me or—or you didn't want to be with me. I wouldn't let him kill you. Way I see it? You ain't been married for a while."

Carol laughed nervously.

"How can you see it like that?" She asked.

"Marriage is all about—having and holding," Daryl said. "Love and honor and cherishing. I've heard it all before. That's what the hell it's all about. It ain't my damn business, and I know that, but I ain't seen none of that shit since I first met you. You tell me it's happening when I don't see? I'll believe you. Tell me to go to hell if you want. But—truth is? To me? It don't look to me like you been real married for as long as I've known you."

Carol stared at him and Daryl wished he could take back everything he'd just said. Still, it was out there and that's where it was going to stay. He couldn't exactly suck the words back up into himself. She sucked in a breath and she nodded her head.

"And I've—done a lot of time for—for cheating on Ed," Carol said. "I've—taken the punishments. But I've never done the crime. Never even thought about it. Until now. And now? Daryl—I can't stop thinking about it and that's hurting me. Because I'm worried about Sophia and—I'm thinking about you and those two things? They don't feel like they go together for me."

"Thinking don't work that way," Daryl said. "Ain't like you can't think of but one thing at a time."

"If I asked you to—if I said that there's a nice couch right over there and if I asked you to..." Carol broke off, clearly unable to ask Daryl what she wanted to ask him. His body responded, though, like it already knew what she wanted. "Would it make me a horrible person?"

Daryl swallowed.

He knew what he'd thought about Shane and Lori once Rick returned. He knew what he'd thought about other people before. He'd been just as judgmental, from time to time, as any other asshole had ever been. He couldn't tell her what other people would think and what they wouldn't think. But he knew that what he'd thought about other people had never mattered. He didn't think it would matter much what other people thought of her either. Still, he couldn't answer for them.

"Not to me," he said.

Carol kissed him again and her hands went to his waist. She tugged at him and it was all the request his hungry body needed. He put his hands on her waist and guided her backward to the living room. He didn't allow himself to think because he knew that if he thought too much about it, he might not have the nerve to go through with it and he wanted to go through with it.

He didn't speak to her until she was pulling him down on top of her on the couch. He didn't speak until both of them were half stripped and hungrily kissing each other like they were sex-starved teenagers in a backseat somewhere.

And when he did speak, it was only to apologize to her because he wasn't sure it was going to be very good. He wasn't sure, honestly, that she'd even think it was worth it. Still, she'd promised him that she'd think it was worth it—and whether or not it was worth anything to her, it had been worth everything to Daryl. Even the pain it caused in his ribs and side didn't matter to him. Being inside Carol was worth it all—a hundred times over.

It was worth the guilt, too, that washed over him the moment that his brain allowed him to think clearly again. Nearly smashing her into the couch with his weight, Daryl realized that he'd helped her cheat. And if anyone found out about it? It would come back more on her than it ever would on him. He was sorry for that. Carol might have seen the sorry, too, because she leaned up from her spot, pinned underneath him, and she planted several kisses on his face where her lips would reach to try to soothe the sorry away.

"Please don't be sorry," she begged. "I'm not. But if you are..."

"Don't want it to hurt you," Daryl said, his chest aching. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Carol shook her head at him.

"You didn't hurt me," she assured him softly. "And if anything else does? That's not your fault."

"It's on me," Daryl said.

"No," Carol said. "You didn't hurt me and—you've never tried to hurt me. Not once. And that—it means more to me than I can say, Daryl."

Daryl moved and kissed her again, closing his eyes to the sensation of her lips against his. He wanted to stay there, just like they were, on a couch that wasn't theirs. He wanted to run away with her. He wanted to find Sophia and run away with the both of them. He wanted them to never have to face Ed again or anyone else that might not understand the way that he felt right then and there on that couch that belonged to people they'd never even know.

But they couldn't run away together. That wasn't how life worked.

And for better or for worse, Carol had to go back. Even if it was to tell Ed to go to hell, she had to go back.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Daryl said. "I'm sorry—if I hurt you. But—I ain't sorry for what we did."

"Me either," Carol assured him.

"You need to leave him," Daryl said.

"I would," Carol said. "But I don't know how. I didn't know how before and—I certainly don't know how now. He would've walked through a restraining order. Now?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"He ain't never tried to walk through a Dixon, I guarantee you that," Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head.

"You have to let me think about it," Carol said. "Handle it carefully."

"Wouldn't have it no other way," Daryl said. He shook his head. "Last thing I want is—you getting hurt."

"Not now, though," Carol said. "We still have...so much to do."

Daryl nodded his head.

He pulled up off of her and put his clothes back on correctly. He handed her a handkerchief to wipe off the evidence of what had happened and assured her it was clean. He'd only picked it up that morning and hadn't touched it since. He told her that she should check the dining room—a room he could see off from the kitchen, and he'd check upstairs. Carol went quickly toward the dining room, even while Daryl was still speaking to her as he headed for the staircase.

But as soon as he said that he'd check upstairs, he heard something. He heard footsteps above them in the second story and then he heard creaking at the top of the stairwell.

He rushed over, expecting to see a Walker seconds from tumbling down on top of him, and looked up the stairs. He wasn't prepared for what he saw. He wasn't even sure, for a moment, that he believed his own eyes.

His heart caught in his chest and he couldn't find his breath for a second. When he did find it, though, he used it to call out to Carol.

"Carol! You better get in here!"


	29. Chapter 29

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

The sound that escaped Carol when she rounded the corner to look up into the stairwell almost deafened Daryl. He wasn't exactly sure what she might do, but he thought that things could go a number of ways. He reached out to her, prepared to catch her if she might hit the ground, but she didn't. Instead she tried to run up the stairs so fast that she stumbled twice, somewhat falling upward Daryl waited at the bottom to make sure that he wouldn't have to catch her if she should come tumbling back down again.

Sophia looked stunned, and Daryl had no other word for it. She stared at Carol and Daryl both for a moment like she didn't believe her eyes. She didn't move and she didn't speak. Daryl could only wonder if maybe the girl thought they were part of some kind of vivid hallucination. Maybe she thought that she was imagining things. Maybe, even, she thought she might have died and they were some kind of spirits wearing familiar masks that came to escort her to some kind of otherworld.

She didn't move at all until Carol made it to the top of the stairs and, dropping to her knees, wrapped her arms around her. Sophia folded into her, then, and she let out the first noise that Daryl had heard her make beyond the thumping of her feet on the floor that he hardly believed was her.

"Mommyyyyyy," Sophia cried, her voice trailing off into a pathetic sob at the end.

Carol dissolved into her own sobs. The noises that escaped her were dotted with "Sophia, sweetheart, and baby" until all the sounds ran into one another as she practically mauled her daughter on the floor while her daughter mauled her back in an attempt to be as close to the woman as was humanly possible.

Daryl imagined that Carol hadn't been this happy to see her daughter since the day she'd been born. In a lot of ways, he imagined what was happening was a rebirth in its own right. Carol hadn't wanted to give up and lay her daughter to rest, but her heart had already started doing just that. Now that it was safe for it to believe her daughter was alive again, there was no telling what emotions were coursing through her.

Daryl gave them some time. They had time, after all. For as long as it had taken them to find Sophia, there was more than enough time for them to lock up in the animalistic searching of one another that had to happen after being reunited.

Instead of watching them, Daryl gave them some privacy. He walked away, found his pack, and started unpacking items out of it onto the floor of the living room. His own heart was pounding in his chest. His throat was tight and it hurt to swallow against the tightness, but he was oddly as relaxed as he could recall being in a long time. Even though Carol and Sophia both sounded like they were crying in the staircase—and hearing crying was always something that was difficult for Daryl—it didn't bother him to hear this crying. It felt good. It felt earned.

And he was thrilled to be unpacking items that he honestly hadn't known whether or not they were going to need.

There was water and food there. Daryl had packed bandages and rubbing alcohol for anything they might need to care for before they got Sophia back to Hershel and his full cabinet of supplies. Daryl looked around the living room and got to his feet. He collected a soft throw from the back of a chair, shook it out to rid it of some of the dust it had collected, and then stopped back by the couch to straighten the pillows and cushions that he and Carol had messed up only a short time before.

He didn't know what Sophia had heard, or even what she might've seen, but he was sure that they would find out—there was time for that.

By the time Daryl finished everything that he could think to do and returned to the staircase, he found Carol sitting at the top of it. She was swaying her body, her eyes closed, as she held Sophia across her lap like a largely oversized infant. The girl wasn't protesting the act at all. If Daryl didn't know any better, he might assume that she'd already fallen asleep in her mother's arms.

He hated to disturb them, but he knew that eventually they'd need to get back. Eventually they'd need Hershel to look Sophia over and give her a clean bill of health.

Daryl cleared his throat and caught Carol's attention. She opened her eyes and looked at him, but she didn't stop the rocking immediately.

"Hershel's gonna know better'n us if she's suffered anything more'n a little hunger and some missing sleep," Daryl said. "Might oughta get her back soon."

Carol nodded her head and moved her hand to wipe her nose.

"Yeah," she said softly. It was barely more than a breathed whisper, but Daryl heard it. "Yeah," Carol repeated. She stopped her rocking, but Sophia didn't move. Daryl wondered if she had actually fallen asleep or if she was still just trying to overcome the trauma that, without a doubt, she'd suffered in the past few days. Even if nothing had happened to her, Daryl was sure that being lost would be trauma enough to set the girl back for a few days. He remembered how he'd felt when he'd made his way back home after being lost, and that was even without having a warm and safe place to crash.

"She hungry?" Daryl asked. "I got food down here. Plenty enough to get her through until we get her back and get her somethin' hot."

At the mention of food, Sophia perked up. She moved out of her mother's arms and, sitting beside Carol, gazed down at Daryl. She looked like he expected her to look. She looked exhausted, thinner than she had been even though she'd been rail thin before, and stunned. It was a lot to take in—especially for a child.

"You hungry?" Daryl asked, directing the question at Sophia.

She looked at Carol.

Carol nodded her head.

"It's OK," Carol said softly.

Daryl's chest clenched.

Maybe Sophia didn't trust him. Maybe she didn't trust anyone. She'd learned not to even trust the most basic of kindnesses—like food might come with some kind of trick attached to it. Apparently she was fine with eating what she found, but taking it from someone else? She needed her mother's permission to take the food.

Of course, Daryl could remember Ed pitching more than one fit about food. He hated to share anything, especially if he thought it was anything that he might need. Daryl knew that if he'd heard it, Sophia surely had.

"It's OK," Daryl offered up the staircase. "Got a couple things. You can have what'cha want. All of it, if you want it."

Receiving permission, Sophia eased down the stairs toward Daryl. She looked at him, big-eyed, when she reached the bottom and stood beside him. He gestured toward the floor where he'd unpacked the food, a can opener, and a spoon that he'd grabbed up at breakfast just in case. Beside that he'd put several bottles of water.

"How long has it been since you eat?" Daryl asked.

Sophia stared at him and shrugged.

"You don't know?" Daryl asked. "Or you scared to tell me?"

"Maybe yesterday?" Sophia said quietly.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Go slow," he said. "You don't wanna get sick. You eat too quick. Drink too much water too fast? You'll get sick. Eat what you want. Eat it all. Drink all the water. But go slow, OK?"

Sophia nodded at him and offered him a soft thank you before she eased toward the food. Seeing that it wasn't a trick at all, she dropped to her knees and dived into helping herself to the food with the same enthusiasm that a child might dive into presents under a Christmas tree.

Daryl looked up the staircase where Carol was still sitting, mopping at her eyes with her hand. The tears that she was shedding now didn't have the same effect on Daryl as the ones before had. He knew these tears were good and they were earned. He wanted her to have them, but it looked like she was already getting them under control.

Daryl gestured up at her, waving at her to come down. She got up and her step nearly faltered. The whole thing was a lot for Sophia, but it was a lot for Carol's system as well.

"Hold to the rails," Daryl said. "I don't wanna try to carry you both back."

Carol laughed quietly to herself. She did hold onto the rails, though, and she slowly made her way down the stairs. At the bottom, Daryl dared to reach a hand out and touch her arm. He wanted to do more. He wanted to hug her against him. He wanted to feel her next to him again. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to share this moment with her and feel the energy that he was sure was coursing through her body.

But he didn't dare. Not with Sophia sitting on her knees on the floor, her back to them, scarfing down canned beans and franks like they were the most delicious thing that she'd ever eaten.

Daryl dared only to lean his head toward Carol's enough to put his mouth near her ear. She shivered when he whispered in her ear.

"We got to talk to her," Daryl said. "Don't know what she might say."

Carol looked at Daryl. Sophia had her eyes. They weren't the same color, but they were her eyes.

"She wouldn't say anything," Carol said, her voice barely coming out at all.

"Still," Daryl offered back.

Carol nodded her head. She walked away from Daryl then and maneuvered herself around Sophia. She sat down on the couch near the little girl. Sophia looked at her, but neither of them said anything for a moment. Daryl thought he understood that feeling. Sometimes there was so much to say that it seemed like there was no way to say anything at all.

Maybe it was all understood—at least until it could come trickling out.

Sophia was the one who broke the silence. She offered her mostly eaten can of beans and franks in her mother's direction.

"Are you hungry, Mama?" Sophia asked.

Carol smiled at her and shook her head.

"No, baby," Carol said. "You eat it. You eat all of it."

"Both cans," Daryl said from where he was standing. "If you want 'em."

Sophia looked at him over her shoulder and he nodded his head at her in case she needed a little more encouragement.

"Sweetheart," Carol said softly. "Why didn't you come before? When we—we first got here? Why didn't you come?"

Sophia focused on the beans.

"Did you hear us?" Daryl asked. "Knocking around down here?"

"I didn't know what it was," Sophia said softly. "They make a lot of noise. Those things? They make a lot of noise when they get stuck. But—they can't climb the stairs."

Carol nodded her head.

"Didn't you hear me call you?" Carol asked. Sophia shook her head. Carol nodded again. "Did you ever hear Daryl calling you? Rick or—or Shane?"

Sophia glanced over her shoulder at Daryl and then she looked at Carol.

"I'm sorry," she offered quietly, even though she didn't give a direct answer to Carol's question. "I'm sorry, Mama."

Carol shook her head.

"Don't be sorry, baby," Carol said with a sigh. "It's—OK. Everything's OK. You're safe now. And I'm not letting anything happen to you again, Sophia. I promise. I'm not going to let anything happen to you again."

Sophia nodded her head at Carol.

"Did you hear anything else?" Carol asked. "Is there—anything that you want to...maybe you want to talk about?"

Sophia stared at her. She glanced over her shoulder once more at Daryl. Then she looked at the food on the floor.

"No, Mama," Sophia said. "Can I have that, too?"

She gestured toward a wrapped up sweet cake that was on the floor. Daryl thought it might be a honeybun or something like that. It had been smashed, but those things weren't even made of real food and they'd never go bad. He'd dropped it in the bag because he figured there wasn't a kid alive that wouldn't want the treat, especially not after what Sophia had been through.

Carol nodded her head.

"Of course you can," Carol said. "You can have anything you want."

Carol stood up. She touched her fingertips to Sophia's shoulder and then she walked toward Daryl.

"I'm going to look upstairs," she said, loudly enough that both Sophia and Daryl would be aware of her plans. "See if there's something she can wear. Something clean?"

Daryl nodded his head.

"Yeah," he said. "I'ma stay down here. Keep an eye out."

Carol thanked him and started up the stairs. She wasn't as shaky on her feet now. Sophia, settled down in the floor, didn't look as shook up either, though Daryl was certain there was a long road ahead for both of them to overcome the emotions of the past few days.

Daryl crossed the floor and sat down on the couch where Carol had been.

"You like that?" Daryl asked Sophia as she ate away at the cake.

"Thank you," she offered softly.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "It's OK. But—listen—your Ma ain't down here right now. And I gotta know. You hear anything, Sophia? Anything you wanna—ya know—ask me about?"

Sophia stared at him. She was almost owl-eyed and Daryl figured he had his answer. He'd give her this, though, she was as dedicated to not talking about things as anyone with secrets ever had been. Daryl nodded his head.

"You wanna ask me anything, you can," Daryl said. "Mean that. I ain't gonna—get pissed or nothing. But—I am gonna ask something from you. You think you can do it for me?" Sophia didn't commit one way or another. Daryl cleared his throat. "You got something to ask, you ask me or your Ma, OK? Just us. Don't—don't talk to nobody else. Listen—last thing I want is your Ma to get hurt. Don't want you to get hurt and I don't want her to get hurt. So I'm just gonna ask you that—if you got somethin' to ask? You don't ask nobody but us, OK? If you do that for me? I'll do anything you want me to. Find you anything you want. Do anything you want me to. Deal?"

Sophia nodded her head. She glanced back toward the staircase like she was checking to see if Carol was coming back down yet. Overhead, Daryl could hear bumping around as she went from room to room searching closets and drawers. Sophia looked back at him.

"OK," she said softly. "But—there is something..."

Daryl laughed to himself. The girl was much more than most of them gave her credit for being. She was so much more than Ed or Shane gave her credit for being.

"What is it?" Daryl asked. "You tell me and—if it's in my power? It'll get done."


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Sophia had allowed Daryl to carry her through the last leg of the long walk back to the farm. The walk was several miles long, more than likely, but it seemed to pass quickly even though Sophia's arms, wrapped tight around Daryl's neck as she rode on his back, occasionally cut off his air supply as they walked. Beside him, Carol looked peaceful. She looked like she'd shed some weight since that morning, even if it wasn't literal weight, and she looked like ten years had been shaved off her features.

Her daughter was alive. She was tired and she was hungry and she was going to need some care, but she was alive.

And Daryl's heart drummed in his chest because, as they walked, Carol kept casting glances at him and offering him the warmest and truest smile he was sure he'd ever seen. Nobody had ever looked at him that way—especially not somebody like Carol.

Daryl almost wanted that walk to go on forever and maybe it was that sensation that made it seem like they'd barely begun their journey back to the farm before they were crossing the fields toward their little camp.

Nobody came out to meet them. Nobody called out about their approach. Andrea wasn't even on her customary perch on top of the RV keeping an eye out for possible risks. At first, as they walked toward everything, it seemed that the whole farm was abandoned.

And then Daryl heard the screaming. Following directly on the footsteps of the screams came the cracking of firearms in rapid succession. It wasn't just Andrea that was shooting at something. It wasn't just Rick or Shane. The popping sounds that were issuing forward could only happen if a number of people were shooting all at once.

The noise was coming from the area of the barn and Daryl's stomach dropped as he realized what it was. Carol started in that direction, and Daryl followed after, but as soon as they got close enough to see that everyone was gathered in something of a half-circle around the barn, firing weapons at Walkers as they made their way out of the structure, Daryl stopped and grabbed Carol by the arm. He tugged her back and lowered Sophia down from her perch on his back.

"Stay back," he said. "There ain't nothin' we can do right now and we ain't got guns."

"What happened?" Carol asked, hugging Sophia close to her.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Shane happened, I guess," he said. "Hell if I know. But there ain't no need in getting in the middle of it until the Walkers aren't comin'. Stay here."

One instinct of his might be to rush forward and try to help everyone by putting the creatures down, but the stronger of his instincts was to keep Carol and Sophia away from the Walkers until the danger had passed. After everything they'd been through to find Sophia, and after finally finding her alive, Daryl wasn't going to risk some kind of stupid accident happening because Shane had decided to release a bunch of Walkers from their captivity.

It didn't take long before the flood of Walkers that rolled out of the barn was nothing more than a pile of bodies on the ground. There were some lingering expletives that floated through the air, the stray crack of gunfire as one or two Walkers proved to still be alive, and some loud sobbing, but it was all over.

Daryl bumped Carol's shoulder to usher her forward and she came along with him, her arms tight around her daughter.

Daryl watched the scene some short distance in front of them and took it all in. Almost like it was happening in a world outside of the one they inhabited, Daryl saw Hershel leave the barn area and head back toward the house at the fastest he'd ever seen the old man move. He saw the youngest Greene daughter go running off in the same direction. Then he saw the oldest of the Greene daughter's, Maggie, take off in that direction. Seconds later, it seemed, Daryl heard an engine roar to life and saw a truck leaving the driveway of the farm. It wasn't his drama. It wasn't his concern. He had other things, honestly, that concerned him much more than where someone was going when they decided to run off in a rage of sorts.

Slowly their own group started toward the house, none of them having even noticed Daryl and Carol coming across the field. Daryl steered Carol, then, toward the house instead of toward the carnage at the barn. There was no need for Sophia to see all that and try to digest it on top of everything else that she was currently dealing with.

As they walked, slowly, Daryl kept his eyes on the next thing that concerned him—and frankly it was the thing that concerned him the most at that moment. Ed Peletier was in possession of a rifle.

Daryl almost breathed a sigh of relief when Shane wrapped his hand around the gun and took it in the same way he'd taken the firearms that several other people had acquired for their stand-off with the barn dwelling Walkers.

It was Dale who first noticed their presence as they closed in on the group nearing the farmhouse.

"Where have you been?" Dale asked. Immediately he noticed that it wasn't just Daryl and Carol that were walking up. He turned his body toward them fully. Realization sank in on his features, visible to Daryl even with the short distance that separated them. "Sophia!"

The declaration of the girl's name got the attention of everyone else, even taking precedence over whatever had gone on in their absence. Suddenly Carol and Daryl weren't walking toward the crowd anymore because the crowd was making its way toward them. Carol, for her part, stopped walking and simply hugged her daughter to her like she wasn't prepared to share her with the rest of the group just yet.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Ed spat at them, busting his way through the crowd.

Carol backed up several steps, taking Sophia with her. Daryl saw her move into the position that was probably second nature to her by now, turning her body so that she was closest to her husband. Daryl stepped between her and Ed, anticipating that there might be a problem.

"We went lookin' for Sophia," Daryl said, making his announcement to the group as much as to Ed. "I thought I knew where she was, but Shane was right. She weren't gonna come to me. She'd come to her Ma, though. Took Carol with me and—it was a farmhouse a couple miles from here where she was holed up."

"You just leave?" Ed yelled at Carol over Daryl. "You just up and leave and you don't say shit to nobody? We thought you got killed. Got took off by one of them creatures. Somethin' happened to you the same damn way it happened to Sophia."

Daryl couldn't help but notice that there was a lot of anger there, but it didn't sound—or even feel—like the kind of anger that boiled up out of fear. Ed was mad that Carol left, but he hadn't been afraid she'd been eaten by a Walker. He didn't even seem particularly moved that his daughter was back, if he'd even noticed it at all. Daryl wondered, though, if he'd been the one to stir things up about the barn full of Walkers.

"He's gone!" Maggie yelled, practically breaking the whole bunch of them up as she charged into them all. She squared off with Rick and Daryl glanced in that direction to see if he might need to help break up some kind of fight there. The brunette seemed ready to punch Rick square in the face and her anger was radiating off of her. Daryl could feel it at a distance. "He's gone! He's gone to the bar in town! You gotta go after him. You're the ones that did this! He can't be out there alone!"

"That was Hershel that left?" Rick asked.

Daryl had figured it was the old man. He didn't know if the youngest Greene girl was even old enough to know how to drive the truck that had roared down the driveway.

"I know where he's gone," Maggie said. "And you've got to fix this. You're the ones that came here and ruined everything!"

Daryl glanced back from Maggie and Rick to Ed as soon as he heard the man spit an expletive in Carol's direction. Ed was unmoved by Maggie Greene's distress. He had other things on his mind. Daryl was physically between Ed and Carol, but he didn't want to let his guard down too much because he knew that it wouldn't be any great effort for Ed to go around him if he got the idea to do just that.

A quick glance at everyone else, and Daryl could see that most of them looked every bit as overwhelmed as he felt. It was impossible to know which way to turn or what to do. There was a lot of carnage a few feet off and it seemed like tempers were high enough to stir up more carnage right where they all stood.

Daryl tossed his two cents in, though, and directed the words to Rick who seemed, as usual, to be having some trouble making a decision about what he should be doing. It was time to get off his ass and do something. He hadn't found Sophia, and he hadn't really even made any effort to find her, but he could at least go after the old man.

"You gotta get him," Daryl threw out in his direction. "Girl's been out there alone all this time. He's gotta look her over."

"You came in here and you destroyed everything!" Maggie yelled at Rick. "It's because of you that Otis is dead. It's because of you that—you killed them all! They were our family and friends! Our neighbors!"

"It's only right," Daryl offered, taking Maggie's side. His real motivation wasn't out of concern for the brunette or her suffering, though. His real concern was that the man's medical knowledge, although possibly less than perfect, was much more extensive than what any of them knew. That made him an asset in a world like this. And if he needed a little help finding his way back home, the good officers owed that to him. "Shane?"

Shane looked oddly about as calm as Daryl had seen him in some time. He nodded his head at Daryl and then directed his words toward Rick. He gave him a quick speech about how he had to take care of things and then he offered to help get things cleaned up there on the farm while Rick took someone with him to run down the old man.

With a few layers of chaos peeling themselves away as Rick and Glenn left the group to go after Maggie who would tell them where to find her father, and Shane went off in the direction of the barn with T-Dog, Daryl found that he could focus again on the next problem directly and literally in front of him.

Ed Peletier was pissed at his wife for having run off without telling him where she went. He was so pissed at her, in fact, that he seemed somewhat unaware of anything else that was going on. Daryl was glad to see, too, that he wasn't the only one who was watching Ed. Dale was watching him like a hawk—he was keeping track of every insult hurled and every change in stance that was made.

"Brought your kid back," Daryl said, this time actually addressing Ed. "Safe and sound. Alive. You see that? She's alive. Back now."

Ed stopped his arguing with Carol—or rather his arguing at Carol—to address Daryl then.

"You think that makes you some kinda damn hero?" Ed snarled at him. "Take somebody's wife and go off with her?"

Daryl swallowed. Ed would be a thousand times more pissed off if he knew the whole story. But if Daryl had any control over it, he'd never find out the whole story.

"You even care at all about your kid, man?" Daryl asked, narrowing his eyes at Ed.

"She's my daughter," Ed said. It wasn't really an answer, though, especially not coming from a man like Ed. It was more, in Daryl's opinion, a declaration of biological paternity.

"Then why don't you act like it?" Daryl responded. He glanced quickly over his shoulder. Protected by her mother, Sophia was watching them owl-eyed. "She's right there. Safe and sound. Been scared out her mind surviving out there. Man—you oughta fall on your fuckin' knees and thank some God or somethin' that you got that back."

"Fuck you," Ed spat at Daryl. "You ain't no hero! What the hell have you been thinking?"

Ed directed the last of those words toward Carol and not at Daryl. Carol muttered something not entirely intelligible and Andrea introduced herself into the scenario. She went around Daryl, on the opposite side from where Daryl was blocking Ed from his wife and daughter, and she put an arm on Carol's back.

"Come on, Carol. Let's get you inside. Cleaned up. There's food in there. Hot water," Andrea said. She directed her words to Carol and then she looked at Ed and spoke to him over Daryl's shoulder. "There's no time for this and it doesn't matter, Ed. They're back and nothing happened. Daryl's right. You should be happy about that. It doesn't matter what happened this morning and it's ridiculous to make such a big deal out of it when anything could've happened."

Daryl thought he was prepared to block Ed if Ed made a move, but he wasn't as prepared as he thought himself to be because Ed surprised him when he lurched forward and moved quickly around Daryl. Lori, who was hovering nearby, let out a shout of surprise at Ed's movement, but nobody was really able to stop him. Daryl turned to grab at him, but his reflexes proved to be a little slower than he liked to believe they were.

Ed didn't launch himself at Carol, though. With a spat insult about being a "bitch", Ed caught Andrea and landed the hard smack—which he might have been saving for Carol—across Andrea's face. It was hard enough that she snatched backward with the impact of it and Carol screamed at Ed to try to draw his attention away from Andrea.

All at once, Daryl saw his window of opportunity.

The rule had been established that there was to be no violence on the farm—but surely violence would be allowed in defense of someone, and Ed had started this fight.

Daryl had held back from simply attacking Ed because he figured such an attack would give away his feelings for Carol if he rushed too quickly to her aid—especially if she didn't need it at the moment. Defending Andrea, though, wouldn't raise suspicion at all about his affections.

Satisfied to see his window, Daryl wasted no time. He counted on Dale, even without taking the time to communicate his hope to the man, to get the women and Sophia out of the way and Daryl launched himself at Ed.

There was little that he could recall in life that felt as satisfying as the pain that jolted through his hand when he made the first hard contact between his fist and Ed's face. Even when Ed landed a blow, chaos erupting around them, Daryl felt invigorated by it instead of particularly pained by it. They went down hard together, but Daryl still had the upper hand he didn't intend to lose it. He blocked out all the sounds around him and all the pain he felt in his body from earlier injuries suffered, and he focused on nothing more than the beating he intended for the man to carry.

Daryl punched Ed almost in a blind fury. He did it for his mother because he'd never been big enough to let his old man carry the kind of ass-kicking that he deserved for what he'd done to her. He did it for himself because he'd never had the chance to let his old man know what he wanted to do to him. He did it for Sophia who was growing up in that same kind of familiar hell. He did it for Carol who had been trapped by the asshole beneath him in a never-ending nightmare. And, in keeping up with the excuse that he might use to keep suspicions away from him, he did it for Andrea who was possibly tasting the first blood that a man like Ed had ever drawn from her—and Daryl hoped, for her sake, it was the last.

Daryl didn't know how long they stayed locked up together fighting, but everyone else seemed to have vanished and he was exhausted when Shane finally pulled them apart. He was exhausted and oddly satisfied. And he was pretty sure that Shane hadn't been in any rush to put an end to it all.

Ed was alive, but he wouldn't be back to his normal asshole behavior anytime too soon—and he should probably hope that Hershel made it back soon because there were certainly things that needed to be tended to and his wife, this time, was likely to be far too occupied with her daughter to worry about tending to Ed's wounds.


	31. Chapter 31

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **For anyone who might be upset soon, I fully believe that Daryl can have relationships with women that aren't romantic. Please keep that in mind. For me, he's not limited to caring about simply Carol and Sophia. It doesn't mean that he cares about them romantically. I just feel that needs to be said since we'll see a bit more of Daryl and Andrea's relationship here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl hissed at the burn of the alcohol in the sore on his forehead. The stitches weren't entirely reopened, but they'd been at least damaged a little. Andrea apologize quietly and leaned forward, blowing her breath gently over the cuts.

She left dabbing at the cut on his forehead and discarded her cotton ball for a clean one to torture him with. As soon as she doused it in alcohol, she dabbed it against the busted skin at his lip. Daryl ran his tongue against the inside of his lip and tasted the coppery taste of the blood and the acrid taste of the rubbing alcohol. He reached his hand up and caught Andrea's wrist. She looked at him while he pried the bottle of rubbing alcohol out of her other hand. He waved his fingers at her.

"Sit down here," he said. He laughed to himself. "You might not know it, but you're bleeding too."

"Not like you," Andrea said.

"I'm used to it," Daryl said. "Sit."

Andrea did sit on the bed next to Daryl. She'd ushered him into the room where Hershel had tended to him before. Carol was somewhere, upstairs, taking care of Sophia. She was getting the girl a good meal and a good bath. They'd eventually be back with Hershel, but she was doing all the mothering that she could for now. Andrea had decided she would be the one to clean up Daryl after the brawl.

Daryl took a clean cotton ball from the bag on the nightstand, doused it in rubbing alcohol, and touched it to the busted part of Andrea's lip. She flinched away from him and he laughed to himself. He blew on her face the same way she'd blown on his.

"Stings like hell, don't it?" He asked.

"Yeah," Andrea said, laughing to herself. "It does."

"Didn't realize he got you twice," Daryl said.

"Would've gotten me more if you hadn't helped," Andrea said. She pulled up her sleeve and showed Daryl that along with the purpling color around her eye and the busted lip, Ed had clearly grabbed her arm hard enough to leave his fingermarks there. He was holding her. He intended to relieve some frustration on her—that much was clear.

"Sorry he done it," Daryl said. "You ain't deserved that."

"Nobody does," Andrea said. "But—I guess I'll live."

"First time you ever been hit?" Daryl asked.

Andrea shook her head.

"I wish I could say it was," Andrea said. "But—I haven't always made the best decisions in life."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"The hell you say," he commented. "And here I was thinkin' that everybody else had it all figured out. That you were probably all put together. Never made a mistake in your life."

"My acting isn't too bad," Andrea assured him.

Daryl dabbed at the spot on her lip again. She flinched away from him, but not as badly as before. She knew what to expect now. She could stand it for a bit.

"Won't be too bad," Daryl said. "It'll heal at least. I ain't sorry I beat the shit out of him. Not after seein' this now. Knowin' for sure what he done to you."

Andrea laughed to herself. She shook her head at him.

"There's nobody here but you and me," Andrea said. "Let's not pretend that it was me you were hitting Ed Peletier over."

Daryl's stomach tightened. His pulse picked up. He stared at Andrea and she stared right back at him, a smirk playing at the lips that he'd been dabbing with rubbing alcohol. She shook her head at him.

"I'm not going to say anything," she said. "If that's what you're worried about. And—I am glad that you did what you did. But I just wanted you to know that you can cut the bullshit. I know it wasn't me that you were protecting."

"Is it that damn obvious?" Daryl asked.

"Maybe," Andrea said. "Maybe not. There's a lot going on. I don't know if anybody knows anything. I think everyone's too wrapped up in what's going on with them. Still—I'd be careful. Ed's an asshole. This wasn't even the worst he was planning on doing to me."

Andrea leaned around Daryl and, taking possession of the cotton balls and rubbing alcohol again, set into tending his knuckles. They'd taken quite a pounding against Ed's skull and Daryl wasn't entirely sure if that he hadn't jammed his hands a little bit. As the time wore on they were growing quite stiff and just flexing his fingers was making him clench his teeth against the pain. Andrea dabbed at them as tenderly as she could, blowing on the cuts as she went.

"You ain't gonna say nothin'," Daryl said.

Andrea rolled her eyes up at him. She laughed to herself.

"That's always been my intention," Andrea said. "Be the bitch that says something that gets Carol beaten—or killed. Sophia too. I'm not saying anything to anyone."

"Ed ain't gonna do that," Daryl said.

"Maybe not tonight," Andrea said. "But—I don't think he's a reformed man. We're all going to have to keep a pretty close watch on him after today. He's not smart enough to learn from his mistakes. You saw what Shane did to him back at the rock quarry. He didn't learn from that. He's got a hard head." She laughed to herself again. "As evidenced by what it did to your hands. Did you break his skull?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I tried," he confirmed. "I sure as shit tried. I ain't even sure I was done. Was runnin' outta steam, though. I reckon that's why Shane pulled me off him. Figured—I was runnin' outta steam and he might oughta break it up."

"By that point I'm sure that Ed didn't have a lot of fight left in him either," Andrea said.

Daryl laughed to himself. He didn't even feel the pain of his fingers for a moment.

"You see him?" Daryl asked. Andrea hummed in the negative and shook her head, her eyes focused on Daryl's fingers. "Looked like—what was the asshole's name that lived in the bell tower in France or whatever? Hunchback asshole?"

Andrea laughed quietly.

"Quasimodo?" She asked.

"That was his name?" Daryl asked.

"If we're talking about the same person," Andrea said. "The Hunchback of Notre Dame."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah—that was him. That's what the hell Ed Peletier looks like right now."

"Sounds like you tried to make a Picasso painting out of his face," Andrea said.

"He fuckin' deserves it," Daryl mused to himself as much as he said it to Andrea.

"And then some," Andrea said. She sighed. "I think this is about as good as I can get it. I'll wrap these up. Keep them clean at least until Hershel gets back. I hope Rick and Glenn are able to find him."

"They'll find him," Daryl said. "Shane got all them bodies buried. Him and T. I didn't ask, but I'm figuring he mighta had to put 'em in some shallow ass graves. Maybe some kinda mass grave. That was a lotta holes to dig in that kinda time. They might be fast, but they ain't that damn fast."

Andrea laughed to herself. She seemed to tickle herself to the point that she almost lost the ability to keep it under control. Daryl watched her, very nearly laughing at her amusement, and finally nudged her when she snorted and raised her hand up to cover her mouth. She flinched against her own touch and Daryl caught her hand, pulling it away from her mouth.

"Don't get it dirty again," Daryl said. "Give yourself an infection. What the hell's so damn funny?"

"I was just thinking—Shane is pretty fast," Andrea said. She shook her head. Her cheeks ran red and Daryl didn't assume it was all from the laughter. Realization flooded his chest then.

"You and Shane?" Daryl asked.

Andrea shushed him.

"When the fuck?" Daryl asked. "What the fuck?"

"We went out," Andrea said. "He said we were looking for Sophia, but where we ended up? I don't think he really thought she was out there. He said some things. I got stirred up and..."

Normally Daryl didn't give a damn about anybody's sex life. He might judge someone for their bad decisions—as he often did with his brother—but he didn't get too worried about it. What people did with their bodies was their business. It really had nothing to do with him. And, in light of all things, Daryl really didn't have any room at the moment to judge anyone for what they decided to do.

Above all that, Daryl told himself he didn't give a damn about Andrea. He didn't care what she did. Still, something caught in his chest that told him that maybe he wasn't being entirely honest. Maybe he did care—at least a little.

"You be careful with that shit," Daryl said. He shook his head at Andrea. "Shane? He's like a loaded gun. Ready to go off."

Andrea laughed.

"Don't I know it," she teased.

"Stop it," Daryl said, recoiling from her comment slightly. That only seemed to amuse Andrea more. "I'm bein' serious. First off—I don't want to know that kinda shit about you. Second? I'm tellin' you for your own damn good to be careful. He's stuck up Lori's ass. Won't use you for nothin' more than..."

"Than what he used me for," Andrea said. Her earlier humor melted away. Her features were straight now. She was being sincere. "I didn't think it was some epic romance, Daryl. It wasn't like that. It was just—exactly what it was. Blowing off some steam. It wasn't even—and I know you don't want to know it—but it wasn't even good for that. It just happened. I told you—I've made some pretty bad decisions in my life before. I guess I'm not done yet. I'm still learning—I haven't reached that perfection that everyone else seems to have achieved."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head. He wanted to laugh at her attempt at humor, but he really couldn't for the time being.

"Yeah," he said, mostly looking for something to fill the space while he thought about everything. Maybe he'd lied to himself when he'd told himself he didn't care about the blonde at all. Now that he was sitting there, on the bed with her, having a conversation with her that was unlike any he could say he'd had with too many people in his life, he thought maybe he did care.

Maybe he didn't care quite the same way that he cared about Carol—but he cared.

Daryl nodded his head at her again.

"Yeah," he said. "Just—be careful."

Andrea smiled at him. This time it was sincere. It wasn't the shit-eating grin she'd worn before when she was yanking him around to try to get to him.

"I'll be careful," she said. "It was a one-time thing. It's done. Not going to happen again. Besides, I think Dale could smell it on me or something. He's practically been glued to me since it happened. I think the only reason he's not in here is because he trusts me alone with you. He knows that nothing's going to happen like that."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Because I'm damn near not a threat to nobody," Daryl said. "Damn near neutered or something in his opinion."

Andrea raised her eyebrows at Daryl. She shook her head gently.

"Because it's not me that you're interested in," she said. "I think Dale knows that too. But I'm guessing he approves. I don't see him trying to keep you away from Carol the same way he's running interference to keep a four foot radius between me and Shane."

"It ain't the same," Daryl said.

"I know it's not," Andrea said. "Believe me—I know it's not."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Daryl said.

"I didn't think you did," Andrea said. "But if you want to...you know where to find me."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Might go check on her and Soph," Daryl said. "Just—make sure they OK."

Andrea nodded her head.

"I think you should," she said. She was winding the cotton bandages they'd found around his hands. She took the tape between her teeth and tore it before she taped his hands up. He watched her as she did the best job that she could.

"Looks like you done this before," Daryl said.

"Maybe once or twice," Andrea said. "It's not the best, but it'll hold."

Daryl nodded at her and mumbled a thanks. He got up from the bed and watched her for a moment as she went about collecting up the mess so that they wouldn't leave the room in shambles. With any luck, Sophia and Carol would be sleeping there that night and they didn't need to sleep in a bed littered with cotton balls soaked in Daryl and Andrea's blood.

Daryl made his way to the door of the room and he stood there a moment, his hand on the knob, considering if he wanted to say anything else or if he wanted to leave things as they were. Finally, he turned back and called Andrea's name so that she looked at him. She hummed in question.

"Maybe you were right," Daryl said. "Maybe it was—maybe it was Carol I kicked Ed's ass over. But—if it'd just been you? I'da done the same damn thing. Wouldn't let him put his hands on you. You know—hurtin' you like that."

Andrea nodded her head at him.

"I know," Andrea said. "And thanks. Tell Carol there's some pie in the kitchen? Sophia might like a treat."

Daryl nodded his head. He figured that it had been said just the way it needed to be said between them. He figured they understood each other, even if he wasn't entirely sure he always understood himself. He left Andrea cleaning up the mess and he went to make sure that Carol was getting Sophia cleaned up and fed—ready to rest up from everything she'd experienced.


	32. Chapter 32

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol didn't have much of an update on Ed. She hadn't exactly asked for one. Shane had come to her, inside the house, and told her that it might be best if she were to stay inside the house with Sophia. They seemed to think it would be better for her to be away from Ed for the time being, and Carol didn't disagree. She also didn't tell them that her mind was practically racing while she thought about how it might be possible to keep her distance permanently from the man.

Divorce, in their world, honestly seemed a little impossible, but Carol was certainly willing to try to figure out how such a thing might work.

Carol had spent her time lavishing affection on her daughter instead of worrying about tending to Ed's every whim. She still wasn't sure she fully believed that Sophia was real and back in her arms. She didn't want to admit that she'd started to give up hope and, honestly, she didn't have to admit it. Sophia was there. None of the rest of it mattered anymore.

Carol had bathed her daughter even though Sophia had long been old enough to bathe herself. She'd checked her over for cuts and scratches and everything else and assured herself that Sophia was suffering from nothing more serious than a few scrapes from a tumble she admitted taking while she was out in the forest.

Carol had also fed Sophia to the point that she was sure the girl couldn't eat more. Maggie had given her permission to let Sophia have her choice of the food available to them and Carol had let her eat her fill—even allowing her two slices of the pie that she probably didn't actually need.

Daryl had come, for a short period of time, to "check" on things with Sophia while they waited for Rick to return with Hershel. He was battered and bruised from the fight, but he'd assured her he was fine and he'd somewhat hovered around a bit like he wasn't sure what to say or what to do with himself. Of course, Carol wasn't sure what to say either. After all, what had happened between them probably needed to be discussed, but it wasn't really proper or even possible to discuss it with Sophia present—and Carol simply wasn't ready to leave Sophia's presence even for a moment. The only time she'd let the girl be alone, for even a second, was when Andrea had brought her the second piece of pie and had offered to sit with Sophia while Carol went to the bathroom to relieve herself and, truthfully, Carol had almost felt that separation was too great.

She would let Sophia have some independence again, eventually, but she wasn't ready for it just yet.

When Rick returned with Hershel, the old man looked Sophia over and declared her healthy as far as he could see. He gave Carol orders to keep her fed and hydrated, and he'd invited her to stay in one of the rooms of the farmhouse with Sophia for the time being. He hadn't said anything else about what had happened earlier in the day and Carol hadn't pressed him to talk about it.

Under some sort of escort, though Carol hadn't asked for details about that either, Andrea had gone to her tent and she'd brought back everything that she knew to be Carol's. Carol honestly didn't care what happened to the rest if there was anything left in the tent. Ed could keep anything of hers and consider it a parting gift if only it meant that she didn't have to deal with him. It seemed, though, like Andrea had gathered up most anything that Carol could remember having and she'd packed it all in the one bag that Carol carried. In the bottom of her bag, Carol found Sophia's doll and she presented it to the girl as she tucked her into the bed. The only light in the room, at that hour, came from the flickering flames of the three oil lamps that burned, and Carol went around blowing out the two farthest from the bed to bathe the room in near-darkness.

As she blew out the lamp closest to the window, Carol peered out of the window. The camp was quiet. Everyone appeared to be asleep or settling in. There was no sign of life in the tent-town that they made for themselves.

The only sign of life, in fact, that Carol could see was the burning light of a cigarette in the darkness. The person who smoked it sat perched on the railing of the porch just outside the window and watched, Carol assumed, the very same camp that she was looking at.

Cigarettes burning in the darkness had always made her heart stop right in its tracks. They always meant that Ed was there, watching her, and he was awake. They always meant the possibility of danger. Tonight, though, her chest flooded with a different kind of feeling. It was a rush of warmth. The burning cigarette seeming to float in the darkness of the porch didn't belong to Ed and it wasn't threatening danger. It was keeping the danger at bay.

"Where did you find her?" Sophia asked. Her voice in the almost deafening silence of the old house made Carol jump. She turned around quickly and smiled at her daughter. "Sorry Mama—did I scare you?"

Carol hummed and shook her head.

"I was just thinking too hard," Carol said. She crossed the room to the bed and pulled back the covers so that she could slide in next to her daughter. Sophia slid over and Carol put her arm around her daughter, holding her close to her.

"Where'd you find my doll?" Sophia asked.

"I didn't find her," Carol said. "Daryl did."

"I dropped her," Sophia said. "There were some of those—things. I ran from them and I dropped her. I was too scared to go back. I missed her."

Carol leaned and brushed her face against Sophia's before she pressed her lips to the girl's forehead.

"Now you have her back. Just like I have you back. Daryl found her, just like he found you," Carol said. "It was one of the ways that we knew you were out there. I washed her for you."

"She's still dirty," Sophia pointed out.

Carol hummed in the negative.

"That stain won't come out, sweetheart," Carol said. "Daryl got hurt that day. A horse threw him and he fell. He got hurt. I can't wash out the stain."

"He's OK now, though," Sophia said, her words coming out equal part question and statement. "Except for his hands?"

"He's OK," Carol said. "And his hands are going to be fine too. He told you that, remember? You don't need to worry about it." Carol sighed. "You don't need to worry about anything."

"Are you OK, Mama?" Sophia asked.

"I'm better than OK," Carol assured her. "You're back, sweetheart. And I couldn't be any better."

"What about Daddy?" Sophia asked.

Carol's stomach tightened.

"I'm sure he's OK too," Carol said, not sure what her daughter wanted to know about her father. This was the first time she'd even mentioned him since she'd been found. She hadn't mentioned what happened outside, either, though she had shown some concern for Andrea's face when the woman had brought her pie and she'd offered her some of the pie to share like it might help with any injuries she faced.

"I mean—is he still mad?" Sophia asked.

"I don't know," Carol said. It was a lie. She did know. Ed was still mad. In fact, he was probably much worse than "mad". But that was nothing too unusual for Ed and Carol honestly found that she couldn't care less about him or his feelings. "But you don't have to worry about it. Sophia—I love you. You're my baby. You'll always be my baby. And I promise you—I'm going to keep you safe, OK? I'm going to make sure that nothing happens to you ever again. I'm going to keep you safe."

Sophia rooted down into Carol and Carol readjusted herself to make Sophia more comfortable.

"You always take care of me, Mama," Sophia assured her. "You always keep me safe."

Carol swallowed against the rising lump in her throat. She rubbed her face against Sophia once more and reminded herself that her daughter was real. She was very real and she was in her arms again. Instead of spending her night crying over her daughter, she'd spend the night with her by her side.

"I didn't, baby," Carol said. "If I had? You wouldn't have been lost out there. And I'm so sorry for that, Sophia. I'm so sorry that I didn't—that I couldn't keep you safe. I'm so sorry that..."

Sophia shushed her and Carol swallowed again. She smiled to herself when she felt Sophia's little fingers creeping up her face to wipe at her eyes. Her daughter was ever the caretaker and as long as Carol could remember, Sophia had always tried to wipe away her tears when she knew they were on Carol's cheeks.

"It's OK, Mama," Sophia said. "I'm OK. And you do. You do keep me safe. I love you too, Mommy."

Carol snuggled her daughter against her, hugging Sophia probably tighter than she wanted to be hugged. She was growing up. Now she would have a chance to continue growing. After what she'd just been through, she was a great deal more grown than she'd ever been before. The use of "mommy," though, always reminded Carol that Sophia was sometimes quite young—or at least she still wanted to be. Sometimes she just wanted a little extra affection. Carol was more than happy to give her that. She'd give her all that she wanted.

"I promise I'll keep you even safer now," Carol said quietly.

"Is Daryl going to keep you safe?" Sophia asked.

Carol sucked in a breath. It was an innocent enough question.

"I'm sure he will," Carol said.

"If you're keeping me safe, someone needs to keep you safe," Sophia pointed out.

Carol laughed to herself.

"And you think that person should be Daryl?" Carol asked.

"I asked him to," Sophia said.

"What?" Carol asked, struck by her daughter's statement.

"I asked him too," Sophia repeated. "When you got me the dress? I asked him—he asked me if I heard anything. Don't be mad?"

"I'm not mad," Carol responded quickly. "I'm not mad about anything, sweetheart. I won't be mad about anything. What happened?"

"He asked me if I heard anything," Sophia said, "before I came downstairs. He said—if I heard anything that I shouldn't talk about it. Not with anybody but you and with him. He said he didn't want you to get hurt. He didn't want me to get hurt. So I asked him—I asked him to keep you safe."

Carol's chest tightened and she hugged her daughter against her again. Rather than fight her, Sophia seemed to relish being squeezed tightly by her.

"You don't have to worry about me, Sophia," Carol assured her daughter. She'd promised her the same thing a million times over. She could easily admit that she hadn't even believed it herself when she'd said it so many times before. Sophia, she was sure, had never believed her either.

"I know," Sophia said quietly. "Because I asked him to do it and—he did. Will he keep doing it? Mama?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"He's on the porch right now," Carol admitted. "Sitting out there. I guess—maybe that's what he's doing. But you don't need to worry, Sophia. Everything is going to be fine."

"I know," Sophia said, trying to reassure Carol.

Carol waited a moment, thinking over everything, and then she rubbed her face against Sophia's head again.

"Did you hear anything, sweetheart?" Carol asked. "Anything—you want to ask me about?"

"He makes you happy, Mama," Sophia said softly.

"What, sweetheart?" Carol asked.

"He makes you happy," Sophia repeated. "Daryl. He makes you happy."

Carol's chest tightened in response. Her stomach fluttered.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "He does make me happy. He—helped me find you. And that, Sophia? That makes me happier than anything in the world. I'm so happy you're back, sweetheart. But—you can't say anything, OK? About Daryl making me happy? You can't say anything to your Daddy about—about Daryl, OK? You can talk to me. To Daryl. But..."

"I know, Mama," Sophia said quickly. "I told him I could keep the secret."

"The secret?" Carol asked. She wondered how much Sophia had heard and what she might know about anything she'd heard. She wondered, too, what Daryl might've said.

"That he makes you happy," Sophia said.

Carol felt some relief.

"It's a good secret to keep," Carol assured her. "A very good secret."

"I'll keep the secret," Sophia pointed out. "And he'll keep you safe. And you'll keep me safe."

"I promise you that, Sophia," Carol said. "I will keep you safe. Close your eyes, sweetheart. Let's try to get some sleep. I'm right here. And I promise you—you can sleep. I'll keep you safe. And Daryl? He's just outside—keeping watch. Keeping everything safe, OK?"


	33. Chapter 33

**AN: Another chapter here.**

 **I've had a few unexpected chapters in this story, but I thought I'd let you know that I've got about eight more planned if nothing comes up that makes me decide something else is needed.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol was dozing when she heard the tapping at her door. She hadn't been able to fall into a profound sleep, but she wasn't sure how long she'd been lying there with her eyes closed while her mind drifted around. The tapping was unmistakable, though, and she knew that it belonged to the realm of reality rather than to the land of dreams that she was teasingly approaching and running away from throughout the night.

She knew it wasn't Ed. Ed wouldn't tap lightly at a door like he was afraid of waking her. If Ed had somehow gained entrance into the house and had found the room she was in, she would hear him when he burst through the door—and so would everyone else in the house. As it was, not even Sophia had been bothered by the tapping.

Carol eased her arm out from under her daughter and got out of bed. She padded across the floor and lit the lamp closest to the door before she cracked the door. She couldn't say she hadn't expected to find Daryl there, but she honestly couldn't say that she had, either.

"Can I talk to ya?" Daryl asked. "Just a—just a minute?"

Carol glanced back in the direction of Sophia. The girl was asleep. She'd been sleeping soundly the whole night. Carol might have expected her to have nightmares, especially since her daughter had always been given to having nightmares, but that wasn't the case at all.

Carol nodded her head and picked up the lamp that was on a small table nearby. As she opened the door, Daryl backed into the hallway to give her room to come out into the space. Carol pulled the door shut quietly behind her and transferred the lamp to a small table in the hallway—a practice she'd already learned from having to go to the bathroom since she'd tried to fall asleep.

"What's wrong?" Carol asked.

"Ain't nothin' wrong," Daryl said, his voice barely coming out as more than breath. Like Carol, he didn't want to disturb anyone in the house. "At least—nothin' that warrants alarm."

"Ed?" Carol asked.

"Dead for all I fuckin' know," Daryl said. Dale's awake outside. Been sittin' on top that RV with the rifle loaded. Won't sleep. Got Andrea sleepin' inside with T in there. I don't know, but I believe Dale intends to shoot Ed if he so much as comes outta that tent and ain't nobody gonna stop him for fear he'll shoot them if you was to try to talk him out of it right now."

Carol swallowed and nodded her head.

"I never meant for Andrea to get hurt," Carol said.

"Nothin' Ed does is your fault," Daryl said. "Dale ain't mad at you for what happened and she's alright. Stunned her more'n anything. She's stickin' close to people. Ed won't get at her again." Carol heard Daryl swallow. "Won't get at you again, neither. Not if you don't want him around."

"Don't say anything to her," Carol said. "But I—I know what Sophia asked you." Daryl didn't flinch. He didn't move at all beyond the slightest shift in his eyes. There was nothing that was giving away that he knew what Carol was talking about. Sophia could keep their secret, and so could Daryl. Carol licked her lips. "I just want you to know that—I'm not your responsibility. You don't have to do anything, Daryl. You don't owe me anything."

"I don't owe nobody nothing," Daryl said. "Every damn body I owed anything to is dead now. End of the world paid my debts. But I do what I wanna do."

"I don't want you to think that because of what happened between us—I don't want you to think that I expect something from you," Carol said. "Or that I'm using you. I really don't want you to think that I did—that what happened was just because I wanted to get something out of you."

Daryl laughed to himself, but he quickly swallowed down his amusement.

"That's what you think?" He asked. "You think I'ma think that you were just usin' me?"

"You might," Carol offered.

"I might," Daryl said. "But—the way I see it, I got just as much outta—outta what happened as you did. Hell—maybe more."

Carol sighed.

"I can't stop thinking about it," Carol said.

"Way you say that don't necessarily make it sound like a good thing," Daryl said.

"I'm not sure if it is a good thing," Carol said. "Or if it isn't."

Daryl swallowed loudly and nodded his head.

"I thought it was a good thing," he offered. He didn't add anything else to it. He didn't pressure Carol to agree with him. He wasn't trying to convince her of the way she ought to feel, he was just informing her of the way that it made him feel.

Carol realized that she felt nervous, all of a sudden, but it was a different kind of nervous than what she was used to. She didn't have some feeling of impending dread or some feeling that something bad was going to happen. The kind of nervous she felt was a giddy and shaky kind of nervous that she was sure she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Maybe it wasn't that she was nervous at all. Maybe it was anticipation. Maybe it was even a type of excitement. It was a feeling that was almost foreign to Carol. It made her heart pound in her chest. It made her feel just a little drunk.

And Daryl gave her that feeling, just looking at her like he was looking at her.

Immediately the sensation was replaced by one that was much heavier and a sadness descended over Carol and sunk down in her gut like a hot stone.

"I'm still married," Carol said. "I'm still—I married Ed. I'm still married to him."

"Been thinkin' about that, too," Daryl said. "I shouldn'ta put you in the place I did. Shouldn'ta put you in the position I did." He shook his head. "Can't undo it. Not sure I'd want to if I could, but I shouldn'ta done it. You're right. You're married. I've thought on it and I ain't really sure that the—I don't know that what you got is really a marriage. Because it ain't what I think a marriage ought to be and it don't work like I think a marriage ought to work, but you're married to Ed. Even if I don't think somethin' like that's got any right to be honored, you got all the right in the world to feel like you ought to honor it. That's part of why I'm here. I wanted to tell you that—I can't take it back, but I won't ask you to cheat on your husband."

"You really don't think my marriage is real?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"I know all the vows," Daryl said. "To have and to hold. Love and cherish. Honor and—and obey. But—the obeying? Maybe they take it outta context."

Carol almost laughed to herself.

"What context should you take it in?" Carol asked.

Daryl licked his lips and regarded her like he wasn't sure if she really wanted him to answer. Apparently deciding that she did want him to answer, he nodded his head slightly and hummed at her.

"You like somebody—you really like 'em? If you—love 'em? You're married and you're doing this together. Until death, right? So everything you do is—well, it's gotta be for both of you. Gotta be for the good of both of you even if you don't always know it right away." Daryl stopped, clearly growing frustrated with himself because he had a very clear idea in his head that he couldn't quite transfer to words. Maybe it was simply because nobody had ever asked him, before, to put it into words. He stopped for just a moment, thought about what he wanted to say, and then he started again with a loud intake of breath. "If you can rest easy knowing that somebody's lookin' out for you? Then it don't matter what they tell you to do. Even if you don't like it—you know they lookin' out for you and you gonna understand eventually. Just like—today. Lookin' for Sophia? You and me? I told you to stay outside at that one house. You didn't want to stay outside, but you knowed it was just that I heard somethin' and didn't want us fallin' all over each other if it was a Walker about to come out that door. Somethin' like that coulda got us both killed if we got too tangled up and fallin' over each other."

Carol nodded her head.

"I know," Carol said. "I remember." She laughed to herself. "It wasn't that long ago."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Paint it up however you want," Daryl said. "But you obeyed me. You listened to me and you done exactly what I asked you to do. I guess—the obeyin' oughta be like that. You're doin' what each other wants done because you know that it's the best thing for the both of you."

"It's not hard to obey someone who has your best interests in mind," Carol said, presenting his words back to him in a slightly different manner.

A smile curled up the side of Daryl's mouth and he nodded his head.

"See? I know the vows," Daryl said. "And—I don't think it's a real marriage if only one of you keeps 'em."

Carol nodded her head.

"But I'm still married," Carol said.

Daryl nodded back at her.

"And I'ma respect that," Daryl said. "I just—wanted to talk to you. Make sure you were—make sure you and Sophia were OK. Tell you I'm outside. Ed ain't gettin' in the house. If you don't want him to, he won't get near you. You can rest easy on that. You made it clear that I don't owe you nothing, but you don't owe me nothin' neither. I'm still gonna do it."

Carol smiled to herself. She swallowed against the uncomfortable tightness in her throat and nodded her head.

"What I'm trying to say, Daryl—and I'm doing a really bad job of it—is that I'm still married, and I don't know what to do about that. I don't know how to get out of that. Not now. Not with Ed this close," Carol said. She shrugged her shoulders. "I can't divorce him. I don't even know if such a thing exists anymore. What I'm trying to say is that—I'm still married and I don't know what to do about it."

Daryl's eyes went a little wide. If Carol hadn't been watching them so closely, she might have missed the change in his expression entirely. It was clear that he was doing everything in his power to appear unmoved. Maybe that was because he didn't want her to know that he was saddened by the fact she was married. She might have believed him, too, for the unaffected front he put on, but she could almost feel the strange sense of sadness that seemed to hang around his shoulders like a blanket. The sadness lifted a little with her words.

"You mean to say—you sayin' that you don't wanna be married to him no more?" Daryl asked.

"That's what I'm saying," Carol said. "Though I've been pretty bad at getting it out."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Like Dale says," Daryl offered, "them words—don't always do what the hell they should. You—uh—you wantin' to get out because you done with him for good?"

Carol nodded her head.

"For good," Carol said. "For once and for all. I've—I tried before but it didn't go well. It didn't work."

"You want it to work, it'll work," Daryl said quickly. "Now at least. There's plenty of us around here. Plenty of space. You want it to work? Make it known? It'll work."

"I just worry that it won't," Carol said. "I can't let him get to Sophia."

Daryl shook his head.

"He won't," Daryl said. "I promise you that. You—wantin' to get away from him because you're just done or—because you...did you find somethin' you were..."

Carol heard the question that Daryl couldn't get out and it made her chest draw up tight. It made her heart pick up its pounding again. It returned the nervous feeling that she'd been feeling earlier. Daryl wanted to know if she wanted to be with him. He wanted to know, even if his self-doubt wouldn't let him ask such a thing, if Carol thought she'd found something better than Ed. At the same time, Carol knew that putting too much pressure on Daryl might not be the best thing for him. Maybe he wasn't ready for that kind of pressure. Maybe she wasn't ready for it either, even if she simply felt _right_ every time she was near him. Her answer, no matter what it was, had the potential to be what he didn't want to hear.

Carol didn't know what to say, so she did the next best thing—and the thing she'd wanted to do since she'd stepped into the hallway. She stepped forward and moved to kiss him, pleasantly surprised when he met her before she could close the distance between them. She smiled against his lips before they pulled apart.

"It wouldn't be hard to find something better than Ed," Carol said quietly. "But—I don't think better even begins to describe what I'm feeling right now." She swallowed. "And it wouldn't be fair if I didn't admit to you that—that scares me just a little bit."

Daryl stared at her a moment, brow furrowed, before he laughed to himself.

"Scares the shit outta me," he said.

Carol laughed.

"So I guess we're even?" She asked. Daryl nodded and hummed at her. "But what do I do?"

Daryl's expression went solemn again and he stared at her. With his silence, Carol assumed he was thinking sincerely about her question. Finally he sighed.

"Obvious answer would be to—get rid of Ed," Daryl said.

Carol's blood ran a little cold. She hated Ed. She truly did. But the thought of getting rid of him in the way that she was sure Daryl was suggesting was terrifying. She didn't know if she had it in her to do something like that. She didn't know if she wanted to believe that Daryl had it in him. Killing those creatures was one thing. Killing another human being? Even if Ed barely deserved to be called a human, Carol didn't know if she could live with knowing that they'd simply killed him—not in cold blood. Not like this.

Carol shook her head.

"Please don't even joke about it," Carol said. "It's terrifying to think about something like that."

"I won't," Daryl said quickly, shaking his head. "But—if I got to? If he was comin' after you or Sophia or...I won't do it now. Hell—leave that to Dale 'cause he might. But if I got to? I won't make no promises."

"There's got to be another way," Carol said.

Daryl sighed, but he nodded at her again. His thumb went to his mouth and he troubled his cuticle with his teeth.

"There is," Daryl said. "Right now? It's keepin' you away from him. Figurin' out what's goin' on here. Some shit went down that you don't know about. Weren't gonna tell you because I figured you got enough goin' on. While they was out there? They ran into some trouble. Right now? You stay in the house with Sophia. Keep good and clear of Ed. Let's figure out what's happenin' here. When everything's settled again, we'll figure Ed out."

Carol smiled to herself.

"We'll figure it out?" She asked, cocking her eyebrow at Daryl.

"We'll figure it out," Daryl echoed.

Carol smiled. She wasn't sure exactly how it happened, but somehow she'd become a part of a "we". And, honestly, it had been a long time since she'd felt like she wanted to be part of a "we" but, right or wrong, it was feeling pretty good at the moment.


	34. Chapter 34

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl sat outside on the porch looking at his knuckles, the fresh blood still running from them. Every now and again a drop or two of it dripped down and soaked into his pants. The pain in his hands, when he moved them at all, made him nauseous. He was a fighter. He knew how to fight. He knew how to keep from breaking his fingers, for the most part, even if he broke the face of the man he was up against. He'd learned that from Merle. He'd learned it out of necessity, really. There were far too many times that Merle had gotten them both into something that only their fists could get them out of.

Beating up Ed had been cathartic. Daryl thought it was something he could do every day for the rest of his life and he'd never feel sorry for what it did to his hands. But beating up the boy?

Rick had been wrong to bring him to the farm. He'd been wrong to chain him in the barn. It would have been better to have simply killed him there. A bullet to the brain would have been quick and easy.

Now he was here and if they let him loose he would get back to whoever the hell he was with—people that Daryl gathered were unsavory at best and horrible at worst—and he'd bring them back. There would be nothing to stop him from bringing them all back. He could give his word if he wanted that such a thing wouldn't happen, but a word wasn't worth much these days—if it had ever been worth anything to begin with.

Men like that wouldn't care who they hurt and it made Daryl shudder to think of them getting their hands on the women that surrounded him. It made him angry and nauseous at the same time.

He didn't condone killing just for the sake of killing, but he was growing more and more comfortable with the idea of simply killing those who needed it.

Carol was expecting him, and he was almost ashamed to walk into the house with his hands freshly bloody again. She would know what had happened, and she wouldn't like it. They'd had a meeting that morning about the man—everyone but Ed had been invited to it—and Carol had expressed that it just seemed awful to her to kill Randall. She wondered if it made them monsters to do something like that. She would see Daryl's hands and she would know that he was willing to take the chance that they were monsters—especially if it meant killing someone he cared nothing about to save the people he did care about from some kind of awful fate.

Daryl finally got up from his seat and made his way to the door of the house. It was unlocked. They were in and out the house and there was no reason to pretend that Hershel's family was keeping distance from the group now. Wrapping a handkerchief around his hand so he wouldn't leave blood behind on everything he touched, Daryl opened the door and let himself inside. He found Carol in the kitchen, making lunch for everyone at Hershel's stove because she saw it as a way to earn her keep. Sophia was close by, sitting at the small table in the kitchen with a glass of milk and a book.

Carol turned to look at Daryl when he came into the kitchen. She smiled at him first, then her eyes drifted down to his hands and she frowned. She glanced at Sophia and then back at Daryl.

"Sophia—sweetheart?" Carol said. "Could you take that into the bedroom? Give us a minute?"

Sophia looked at Daryl like she wanted something from him, so he nodded his head at her. The girl got up and gathered up her book. She took her glass with her and went quickly out of the kitchen. Carol abandoned her cooking and went over to the small shelf in the kitchen where they'd piled up first aid basics. She gestured toward the chair that Sophia had been sitting in and Daryl took his seat there. Carol came over and began tending his fingers, a deep line between her brows, in silence.

"I wish to hell you'd say somethin'," Daryl said finally.

"I'm sorry," Carol said. "I know it—I know it stings. Hurts."

"Not about that," Daryl said. "Hell—that look on your face. Hurts more'n my hands do."

Carol looked at him, pausing a moment in her work.

"Was it Ed?" She asked.

Daryl shook his head. Carol's expression changed and she nodded knowingly.

"You wanna say somethin' now?" Daryl asked.

"There wasn't any need for him to even talk to us," Carol said. "Rick knew what he wanted and he knew that it was going to happen that way from the beginning. He sent you to be his henchman. To do his dirty work." Carol shook her head and went back to tending Daryl's fingers.

"I know you don't like it," Daryl said. "The idea of—figurin' out what to do with that guy."

Carol hummed to herself.

"What I don't like is that—I don't like the idea of you being the kind of man that beats up people who haven't done anything," Carol said. "I don't like the idea of you...just beating someone up like that."

"You weren't exactly complainin' when I laid into Ed," Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"Ed was hardly innocent. Andrea's face looks worse today. Have you seen it? The bruising is settling in now. She's pretending she doesn't even notice, but she notices," Carol said. "No—Ed wasn't innocent. I understand that—we have to do things. We have to do what we have to do. But just because? I don't like it."

Daryl's stomach twisted up. He knew what it was. He wasn't a fool. Carol's concerns were that a person who was violent enough to beat the hell out of someone who was innocent and minding their own business—even if it was a strange young man that they found in town—would be a person who would be violent enough to beat the hell out of anyone that crossed them.

Maybe it didn't happen today. Maybe it didn't happen tomorrow. But, eventually, it would happen.

Maybe the dutiful protector today would be the attacker tomorrow.

Daryl wasn't even offended that the thought might cross Carol's mind. It was only natural that such a thought would enter the mind of a woman that he'd barely seen, since they met, even healed from marks her husband gave her. What hurt Daryl the most was that he wasn't exactly in a position to make a convincing promise to her that he wasn't that kind of man.

Daryl cleared his throat and changed his position in the kitchen chair to be more comfortable. He watched a moment as Carol finished bandaging one of his hands and took the other to begin on it. As soon as she freed his hand, Daryl leaned forward and caught her under the chin with his fingers. He turned his face to look at him. The line between her brows returned and her eyes danced as she searched out his face like she might be able to read what he said before he got around to saying it. Daryl shook his head at her gently.

"I ain't that kinda man," Daryl said. "The kind you worried I might turn out to be? The kind he turned into? I ain't that kinda man. And—I ain't gonna turn into that kinda man."

Carol stared at him.

"I want to say I know you're not," Carol said.

"But you can't," Daryl said. "You didn't think he was, did you?"

Carol shook her head.

"No," she said quietly.

"Of course you didn't," Daryl said. "You'd have to be stupid or glutton for fuckin' punishment to mess with his ass if you'da knowed it. You didn't know it. Took him on his word."

Carol nodded her head.

"Yeah," she responded quietly.

"An' he showed you that a word don't mean shit," Daryl said. "But I'ma ask you to take me on my word. Take one more chance, OK? Take me on my damn word. It ain't worth shit, but it's all the hell I got." Daryl shook his head at her. "I ain't that kinda man. Not even if—they think I am? I ain't."

"I don't—I didn't mean to say you were," Carol said.

Daryl's blood ran a little cold in his veins. He recognized the apologetic nature of her words. He recognized the slight curve of her shoulders as she somewhat drew into herself. He'd seen it before from others—from his mother. He'd seen it from Carol. He saw something that he hoped he might one day never see again—but that one day would take its time in coming. She hadn't learned the behavior overnight, and one night out from under Ed wasn't going to strip it away.

It was going to take time and it was going to patience. Above all that, it was going to take understanding, especially on Daryl's part.

Daryl nodded his head. He understood. He did. And he understood, too, that it wasn't all about him. It was barely about him at all.

He moved his hand from under her chin where he was still holding her face with his finger and he stroked her cheek with his pained hand. She closed her eyes to him for a moment and Daryl heard her breath. He felt her relax.

"And I ain't mad," Daryl said softly. "And I ain't—offended. You got every reason to feel how it is you feelin'—but at least let me tell you why I did what the hell I did?"

Carol opened her eyes to him and nodded her head. Daryl dropped his hand and Carol returned to cleaning his other bloodied hand.

"Go ahead," she said softly.

"He's got a group," Daryl said. "They sound like a real shit bunch of people. If we let him go? He's goin' right back to them and he's bringin' 'em right back here. Then we gotta fight 'em off and there's a chance we don't get them before they get us. If we found out where the hell they were, we could stand a chance of at least keepin' an eye on 'em. Makin' sure they don't get here. Don't hurt nobody here. We're sleepin' out in the open. Nobody wants to know that one of them got in somebody's tent at night and caught 'em offguard." Daryl cleared his throat. He thought he saw Carol relax a little with a calmer explanation than the one that Rick had given earlier—an explanation that had sounded too urgent and had mostly been heavily laced with the idea that Rick knew what he wanted to happen and that had to be what happened. "They oughta killed him out there," Daryl said. "Now we're between a rock and a hard place. We let him go? He could bring hell back on us. But if we don't let him go, we gotta fuckin' kill him. No other choice. But the thought of them comin' back? Gettin' you? What they might do to Sophia?"

"Kill him," Carol said softly.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"Kill him," Carol said. "It sounds like the only choice. If that's the only choice? If you believe it's the only choice?"

Daryl nodded his head.

"Believe Rick wants to let him sweat it out for another night or two. See if he might give us something. Tell us where they are. It would be better for us if we knew they weren't too close by—weren't about to sneak up on us or somethin' like that," Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head.

"I'm sorry if—I offended you," Carol said. "I didn't mean to—I didn't mean to suggest that you were..."

"Hey," Daryl said, catching her attention before she could continue. "It's OK. Really. Guess it's kinda hard not to think that." Daryl held his hand up, showing her that he realized that his bloody knuckles didn't make him look like a negotiator for peace.

"I hate that Rick put you in that position," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Who the hell else was gonna do it, right?" Daryl asked.

"It shouldn't have to be you," Carol said. "It shouldn't always have to be you."

"Maybe it won't be," Daryl said. "Or maybe it will. Just as good me as anybody else...long as what needs to happen, happens. He don't bring them down on us, I'm OK with it bein' me that had to scare the shit outta him. Get him to confess what the hell he did about what kinda people they are." Daryl laughed to himself, his stomach churning. "He told me I'd fit right in with 'em. Told me I was their kinda people."

"But you're not," Carol said.

Daryl wasn't a hundred percent sure if it was a statement or a question. It came out in such a way that he was sure that she wanted to believe it, but he could tell that she was still struggling with accepting that it was truth.

"No," Daryl said. "I ain't that kinda person. Listen—I know how to fight. Ain't gonna lie about that. Spent more of my life fighting than even I think is right. It's in my nature. In my blood. Figure—I was born with some of it. I was born outta some of it. But—I can tell you one thing. I know how to fight, but I also know when and where the hell I draw the line."

Carol looked at him and small smile played just at the corners of her mouth.

"You're a good man," Carol said.

"You don't gotta say that," Daryl said.

"I believe it," Carol responded.

"You damn near shakin' where you sit," Daryl pointed out.

Carol nodded her head. She sighed.

"Even so—I believe it," Carol said.


	35. Chapter 35

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

It seemed bright that night. The moon was full and hanging in a sky that was virtually cloud free. With no other lights in the world, the stars lit up the land almost like the streetlights that seemed like such a distant memory that Daryl might have been able to convince himself that he'd made them up.

Inside the house, Carol slept in a room with Sophia. Daryl had seen the light in the window go out when she'd blown out the last lamp in the room. The rest of the room was dark except for an upstairs light that Daryl knew to belong to the old man. Daryl couldn't imagine that it would be long before that light went out too.

The camp was quiet. Everyone was asleep except for Dale who seemed to never actually sleep. Daryl could see the outline of him sitting up on top of his RV. If the light were better, Daryl would have been able to see the rifle in his hand. He would've been able to see that Dale was keeping watch for Ed stirring about. He fully intended, and Daryl knew it even if Dale didn't say it, to shoot Ed if he got the idea that Ed wanted to cause trouble.

Ed hadn't caused any kind of trouble. He had barely come out of his tent, actually, since Daryl had beaten the shit out of him. Maybe he was ashamed or maybe he was simply suffering too much head trauma to come out. Lori had played like some kind of saint and left food outside of his tent—food that Daryl assumed disappeared because she came back some time later with empty plates—but nobody had really gone to check on the man. Nobody had even assured themselves that he wasn't on the verge of dying from some kind of serious infection from his wounds.

Other than the fact he'd be a loose Walker if he could work his way out of the tent, nobody seemed like they'd really be concerned if Ed simply up and died.

Sophia hadn't even asked about him, even though she'd asked Daryl three times about his hands and if they'd get better. He'd assured they would, and he'd told her that sometimes they busted open again, but it wasn't anything to worry about, because he hadn't wanted to tell the girl about Randall. He figured she had enough on her plate not to know that they had a man held tight in the barn with handcuffs, rope, and a deadbolt strong enough to hold back a bull.

Randall wasn't talking beyond his attempts to beg that they cut him loose. Rick figured that letting him sweat it out in the barn another night or two might make him give up the whereabouts of his friends. Rick thought they'd be safer if they at least knew where the other group was. Daryl didn't like the idea of torturing people, but he was inclined to agree that it would be better to have the upper hand. Shane, on the other hand, was more hot-headed and half-cocked. He wanted to kill Randall and be done with it. He seemed to feel that the greatest danger to them wasn't the group, it was Randall himself.

Daryl figured that tomorrow or the next day would be soon enough to do away with Randall, if Rick wanted to hold out to see if he'd talk, but he was with Shane on the fact that it had to be taken care of soon. He didn't like the idea of having Randall there on the farm, even locked away, while he also had to worry about when Ed would come crawling up out of the hole that he'd dug for himself—and men like Ed always seemed to crawl back out of their holes eventually.

With Dale keeping watch from his RV for Ed's rambling about, Daryl could let his guard down a little. They took turns, really. Dale signaled to Daryl with a flashlight when he was giving Daryl a chance to rest. Daryl waved his lighter when he lit a cigarette to let Dale know that he was on duty.

Daryl had moved his few possessions to the porch without asking Hershel Greene if he minded the new squatting that was taking place. He put out a pallet for himself made from his blankets and that was where he got what little sleep he actually needed to keep going. Daryl had always been able to do without a great deal of sleep, and he found it even easier when it was for a good cause.

When Dale signaled to him that he was on watch, Daryl didn't feel the need to go straight to sleep. Instead, he lie on his pallet, on his back, and smoked a cigarette thoughtfully—paying attention to the way that the burning embers looked in the darkness and to what each movement of his pained fingers felt like.

Carol trusted him. She trusted him to be a good man.

Carol trusted Daryl to be a good man for her and for Sophia but, more than that, she simply trusted him to be a good man.

Nobody had ever really trusted Daryl to be a good man.

They'd trusted that he'd be a Dixon. They'd trusted that he'd be trailer trash. They'd trusted that he might be able to fix their bike or car and that he'd probably break their nose for them if such an occasion should arise. Like Rick, they'd sometimes trusted Daryl to handle whatever unsavory tasks they might need to be handled.

But nobody had ever really trusted Daryl to be a good man—until Carol. And that trust, more than anything else, made Daryl want to be sure that he didn't let her down.

He meant what he'd said to her. Violence was something ingrained in him. He felt like he couldn't remember a single part of his life where violence hadn't been a part of his survival. It hadn't even scared him, at least not nearly as much as he imagined it should have, to find that the Dead had taken to roaming the Earth and they were going to have to kill them again to take it back. The blood and the violence—it was second nature.

But Daryl knew, very clearly, where he drew the line.

He would never raise his hands to Carol for as long as she'd allow him to be around. He'd never raise his hands to Sophia. He'd never raise his hands to Andrea or to any woman so long as it could be avoided. If he had to fight one off—someone set on killing him or hurting those he was looking out for—maybe he'd have to do what he had to do. But he'd never raise his hands to them just for the sake of letting them know they pissed him off one way or another.

Daryl knew how to be pissed off without taking it out on somebody's face—even if he hadn't done a great job of proving that to everyone in the past few days.

When Daryl heard some rustling around, he sat up. He looked around, hoping to see who it was that was wandering around in the darkness. He didn't see anything, though, and immediately snubbed out his cigarette and left his spot, taking his own flashlight with him even though he didn't bother to turn it on. Stepping down from the porch, he saw Dale's light click on and off again quickly. Daryl walked over to the RV and climbed up the ladder. Peering over the side, he called Dale's name out quietly to get his attention.

"You heard somebody movin' around too?" Daryl asked.

"It wasn't Ed," Dale said. "He hasn't moved. I've been watching his tent."

"Who the hell was it?" Daryl asked.

"I don't know," Dale admitted. "It wasn't Andrea. I would've heard her come out. T-Dog's in there with her, so it wasn't him."

"Weren't a soul out the house," Daryl said. "Leaves just Rick, Glenn, an' Shane."

"Probably someone going for a bathroom break," Dale said.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Take a piss. That's prob'ly what the hell it was." He laughed quietly to himself. "Speakin' of—I gotta do a little talkin' with nature myself."

"Go in the RV," Dale said. "Nobody'll mind."

"Nah," Daryl said. "Freaks me the fuck out havin' to empty the damn thing later. Might as well take a walk now."

"Suit yourself," Dale said.

"You got it covered 'til I get back?" Daryl asked.

Dale lifted his rifle up for Daryl to see as proof that he did have it covered. Daryl hummed at him before he descended the ladder and, finding the ground, started off across the field. They had a few holes dug, marked with tall sticks, for their bathroom needs. When one filled, they covered it over. It wasn't the most sanitary bathroom experience, perhaps, but it got the job done and the sticks kept them from accidentally stepping in something they'd regret later.

Daryl's business wasn't that serious, though, and he didn't put a lot of distance between himself and the camp before he chose a satisfactory place to take a piss. While he handled his business, he looked around for any signs of movement. He thought, for just a moment, he saw a flash of light somewhere, but he honestly couldn't be sure. Since he didn't see it again, he told himself that it was nothing to worry about and was, more than likely, his imagination. The moonlight reflecting off of something was fucking with his head. It was nothing more than that.

He didn't see whoever it was that had been wandering around, either, but he figured that they might be crouched down by the sticks or else they might've somehow missed him entirely in the darkness. They weren't moving around anymore if they were out there.

When he finished, Daryl walked back to the camp and let Dale know he was there. When the old man invited him to take a nap, Daryl decided to take him up on it. One quick check of the camp and the house, and Daryl was satisfied there was nothing out of the ordinary going on. He lie down on his pallet and closed his eyes, determined to sleep a bit.

And he did sleep. He slept so soundly, in fact, that the sound of the gun ringing through the night woke him with a start that would have possibly made him piss himself if he hadn't emptied his bladder earlier.

Daryl hit his feet fast enough that his head spun and he had to take a second to steady himself before he gathered up his bow. He looked around him, expecting something but really not knowing what to expect.

Dale was up and moving about. Glenn was out of his tent. T-Dog and Andrea spilled out of the RV. It was only a moment later before there were sounds in the house, too.

"Was it Ed?" Daryl called out.

"Wasn't me," Dale called back.

Ed wasn't out of his tent. Daryl glanced in that direction and he could see that a flashlight was on inside the tent, but Ed wasn't out.

"Who shot the gun?" Daryl asked into the darkness. The door behind him opened with a squeak.

"What's happening?" Lori asked.

"Is everyone alright?" Carol asked, coming out behind the woman.

The guns were floating around freely since the Walkers had come out of the barn. They tried to keep them under lock and key in the RV, but Daryl wasn't foolish enough to believe that some of them couldn't have gotten out. Still, he didn't know who could be shooting or what they might be shooting at.

"Where the hell's Rick and Shane?" Daryl asked.

"Not here," Glenn said. He walked off, into the small tent-city that they'd built, and then he reappeared near the edge of it where he'd been standing before. "Tents are empty."

"Fuck," Daryl said. "OK—don't mean nothin'."

"Daryl," Dale said, walking around on top of his RV.

"Could be they just—went off or somethin'. Maybe they had some kinda damn fight over what's goin' on with that fuckin' Randall asshole," Daryl continued.

"We've gotta find them," Lori said quickly.

"Daryl," Dale repeated.

"We ain't gotta find 'em," Daryl said. "Let 'em handle their own damn selves!"

"Daryl—I think you need to come see this," Dale said. "Daryl..."

"What the hell is it?" Daryl asked, stepping off the porch and looking up at Dale.

"I don't know if you can see it from down there but—look," Dale said, pointing out across the field that Daryl had walked some time before when he'd gone to take a piss. Dale walked forward, past Andrea and T-Dog who were standing in front of the RV, and got the best view he could of whatever it was that had Dale's attention. At first he wasn't sure what he was seeing. The moonlight was bright, but it could still play tricks on his eyes.

When it came into focus, though, Daryl was once again glad that he'd taken the time to evacuate his bladder.

"Fuckin' hell! Carol! Lori! Get back in the house with the kids!" Daryl barked. "Andrea! T! Get the guns outta the RV. One to everybody!"

"What is it?" Andrea yelled, Daryl's voice apparently stirring everyone up.

"It's a fuckin' herd," Daryl barked, already moving to go after the weapons they had available to them. "Big one—and they headed right for us!"


	36. Chapter 36

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

"Carl's missing!" Lori yelled out, coming down the stairs almost two at a time.

Carol was in the living room with everyone else, moving between the rooms to watch the chaos outside. They had the doors locked and barricaded, and Carol was waiting with a gun in her hand that she barely knew how to use.

Outside there was nothing but absolute confusion. Vehicles roared everywhere. Everyone was fighting the herd of Walkers that was headed straight for the farm—everyone that wasn't barricaded in the house. Their hope was that they could stop the herd before it had a chance to plow through everything that was providing them a home for the time being. They hoped they could save _something_.

Carol almost felt useless in the house. She was there with Sophia, Hershel, his daughter Beth, Patricia—the wife of the man who had died attempting to get medical supplies for Carl's injury, Lori, and Carl. It was, theoretically, Carol's job to help keep those safe that couldn't keep themselves safe, but really she suspected that she was simply being lumped into the "can't keep themselves" safe category. And, really, it was probably true. After all, the gun in her hand felt heavy and foreign. She'd only fired a gun a few times for practice and she wasn't terrible at hitting her target, but she wouldn't have labelled herself a markswoman by any stretch of the imagination.

Everyone else was outside fighting, but Carol wasn't out there. She wasn't keeping the farm safe. She wasn't defending their temporary "home" for the good of her group. If anything, she was a last line of defense for the children. If the Walkers made it to the house, they would likely take all of them. Carol's job was simple—she'd fight to the death to be sure that her daughter, and anyone else who happened to be alive at that point, didn't die as long as there was breath left in her body.

Carol didn't know how long she could keep her daughter alive, but she knew that she was prepared to sacrifice her own life to try to save Sophia.

And she'd given Sophia clear instructions—if she was gone, Sophia was to run. She was to run as long and as fast as she could. She was to run as far away from the creatures as she could. She wasn't to delay just because Carol was gone. She had to save herself, and she'd already proven that she could.

Carol assumed, honestly, that's why Lori was there too. They were the last line of defense for their children—except, now, one of their children was missing.

"What do you mean he's missing?" Carol asked.

"He's not in the house!" Lori yelled.

Carol couldn't imagine that the boy could have gotten out the house. They were close to the door and they'd only just slid one of the heavy pieces of furniture in front of it to try to keep the Walkers from pushing the door in if they should reach it. In fact, the only way that Carl could not be in the house was if he hadn't been in the house to begin with, and Carol couldn't imagine that Lori was only now discovering that her son was unaccounted for when there was a veritable war raging outside complete with gunfire and the living dead.

"The barn's on fire!" Beth yelled, calling from the other room where she was watching from the windows. "Daddy! Daddy! The barn's on fire!"

"Who's still out there?" Carol called. "Can you see anyone?"

"They're still fighting," Beth called back. "But I can't see anyone. Not anybody I can make out. Daddy—the barn's really burning."

"The fire'll spread," Hershel said. "It's been dry. It's just a matter of time before it spreads to the house. It'll burn us all alive if we're in here."

"Carl is missing!" Lori yelled, grabbing at Carol's arm like Carol hadn't heard her before.

"Did you check upstairs?" Carol asked. She ignored the expression she got from Lori. She could give Lori a plethora of expressions herself.

"Of course," Lori said. "He's not upstairs. He's not in the house."

"Then he left before the fight broke out," Carol said. "He left before we spotted the herd."

"My son is missing!" Lori yelled, her voice trembling.

Carol's stomach twisted. She understood that feeling. She understood the desperate sensation that was behind it. She understood the sensation that all major organs were shutting down at once because such an idea was too much to cope with.

And she understood, far better than Lori, what it was to feel like people were ignoring you.

"Let's look again," Carol said. "Come on—we'll look again. Maybe he got scared and he just...hid or something."

"Carl doesn't hide," Lori said. "What if he went out with Rick? What if he's out there? Carol? What if my baby is out there?"

Carol swallowed. She didn't know how to offer Lori any words of comfort. If Carl was out there, he was out there. And right now, he was in the thick of it. Of course, if it hadn't been for Daryl, her daughter most-assuredly would've been out there and right in the wake of the herd as it moved through.

"We'll look again," Carol offered quietly.

"No time," Hershel said, coming through from the other room. "The fire's starting to spread. The herd's still moving this way. We'll die in the house if we don't get out."

"We can make a run for the vehicles," Patricia said. "Drive off the farm."

She moved to the piece of furniture that was blocking the door and started to push it. Outside, the sounds of engines roaring and gunfire was still coming through. They were still fighting. It wasn't all lost yet. Between them, in the house, they had four guns that Carol knew of, though Patricia was determined that she wasn't touching the small pistol that had been given to her for an emergency.

While the others shoved the furniture out of the way, and Lori walked around in a panic over the fact that Carl was outside the house, Carol found the gun that Patricia had refused. It was lightweight and small. It was fully loaded like the one she was already carrying and it would practically fit in Carol's hand. It fit very well in the pocket of the pants that she was wearing. She kept the other gun she'd been given in her hand and she pulled Sophia close to her.

If they were going out there, it was possibly going to be every man—or woman—for themselves. Carol understood that, and she wasn't letting Sophia out of her reach.

Hershel disappeared, but he returned by the time they were moving the furniture out of the way. He surprised Carol because though he'd argued against the guns, even as they were being handed out, he came with a shotgun in his hand and a bag of what Carol could only assume was ammunition. For a man who had been against weapons, he certainly seemed prepared.

"Go for the cars," Hershel said. "Get Bethie out of here. I'm not going."

"The herd's headed this way," Carol said. "You've gotta go. You'll be killed if you stay."

"I'm not leaving my farm," Hershel said. "This is my farm and I'll die here. I'll cover you all so you can make it to the vehicles."

"There's nothing left," Carol said. "There won't be. The fire is spreading already. You said yourself it'll take the house."

"I built the house once," Hershel said. "I can do it again. Don't argue with me. Get your daughter and get out of here."

Carol didn't argue. She didn't have time and her concern for Hershel was not nearly as great as her concern for Sophia. She pushed Sophia out the door and stepped out after her. She pushed Sophia down the porch steps, always keeping her hand on the girl's shoulder.

Outside the flames lit up the night well enough that it was pretty easy to see most of what was happening in the direction of the barn. The Walkers headed toward them were coming, still, like a wall. Doing everything in their power to clear them, vehicles were circling the creatures. There was a loud crash that made Carol jump as a part of the barn succumbed to the flames and fell.

"Let's go!" Patricia called out. "The vehicles are this way. We'll take Otis' truck!"

Carol almost felt frozen by fear, but she forced herself to start to move in the direction that Patricia indicated. In her ears, she could hear the pounding of her heart and her labored breath even over everything that was taking place. She heard Hershel's shotgun when he fired into the oncoming Walkers. Now that her eyes were adjusting to the contrasts in light and dark, Carol realized that they were all around them.

She could hear them growling, even when she couldn't see them.

When Carol heard a scream, she grabbed Sophia and pulled the girl against her. Only a few feet away from her, Patricia was bitten. Several Walkers were pulling on her, tearing into her flesh while Beth clung to the woman and screamed.

Behind her, Hershel was firing at the Walkers closest to him and Lori was screaming pathetically for her son who seemed to be lost somewhere in the chaos.

Carol was surrounded. There was no clear path. There was nowhere to go. She could probably run for it, but she wasn't sure that Sophia could keep up. Her daughter clung to her and waited for her to have some kind of answer.

Carol's only answer was to fire the gun she held in her hand and to drop a Walker that neared her.

Almost out of nowhere, a truck pulled up near them. Several gunshots blasted out of the window of the truck and a few Walkers closest to them dropped down.

"Get in!" T-Dog yelled. "Get in! It's over. We can't fight 'em all!"

Carol stepped forward and pushed Beth, who was practically at the state of being catatonic and very much at risk of becoming Walker bit herself, toward the truck. With her help, Beth moved and finally headed for the vehicle. Carol pushed Sophia toward the truck as well and walked along with her daughter, guiding her to the vehicle.

"Get in!" T-Dog repeated once Carol had pushed Sophia and Beth both into the cab of the truck.

Behind her, Hershel was still shooting. And somewhere beyond that, Lori was screaming her son's name in a panic laden voice.

"I've got to help," Carol said. "I've got to help her find Carl. We can't leave him. We can't just leave her, either."

"There's no helping anybody," T-Dog said. "It's over, Carol. It's all over. We gotta go and we gotta go now. Everybody's leaving. Everybody that's alive. We gotta get out of here or we're not getting off the farm. We can still make it through right now, but that might not last for long."

"I'm coming," Carol said. "Otis' truck. We'll take it. But—I've got to help Lori find Carl. Get Hershel."

"There's no time for that," T-Dog insisted.

"There's no time to argue with me!" Carol yelled back at him. "Take Sophia and Beth. Get them somewhere safe. I'm trusting you."

"I'm trying to save your life!" T-Dog yelled back in frustration. He leaned out of the window and fired his gun at a Walker that was coming toward them. He hit the Walker and dropped it to the ground with a loud thud. "The bullets won't hold out much longer."

"I've got enough," Carol said. "And I'm trusting you with something more important than my life. Go—get them out of here!"

Sophia screamed at Carol when Beth pulled the truck door shut and T-Dog dropped the truck into drive.

"I love you, sweetheart! Go with T! I'm coming!" Carol yelled at her. She couldn't say anything else. She ran in the direction of Lori who had gone running off around the house screaming her son's name and her husband's name, using the bullets that she had in the heavy gun she was carrying to clear a path for herself.

The small pistol, she hoped, would have enough ammunition to get them to the truck when she finally got her hands on Lori. Patricia, after all, wasn't going to be needing it. Instead, for the time being, she was distracting the Walkers that stumbled in that direction because most of them stopped to see if there was anything left of her to pick off for a meal.

There wasn't much left—not of Patricia, and not of the farm.

They were running out of time, but Carol had enough bullets, she was sure, to make it back to the truck.


	37. Chapter 37

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Not much to go now.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol was cursing Lori under her breath by the time she made it around to the back of the farmhouse. She'd been following the sound of the woman's voice, but Lori seemed to be moving away from Carol at twice the speed with which Carol was moving toward Lori. By the time she made it to the back of the farmhouse, Carol had lost the sound of Lori's voice in the confusion of the other noises that surrounded her, and Lori was nowhere in sight. What was in sight, though, were more Walkers than Carol was sure she could make her way through with the few bullets that remained for her.

Carol stayed close to the house and worked her way around it, hoping to run into Lori or at least to someone who was living and might be able to help her muck her way through the Walkers. She could hear Hershel's gun still firing, so he hadn't run out of ammunition just yet, but she knew that he wouldn't hear her if she were to call out to him.

Nobody would hear her. Nobody even knew she was there. They probably thought she'd left with T-Dog or had been swallowed up by the herd already.

So when she felt someone grab her, she knew it was one of the creatures and she reared back, desperately slamming the heavy gun into the head of the Walker. She didn't know if she had the strength to kill it through blunt force, but she was willing to try. She had to try. She didn't have the small gun out of her pocket and the Walker had her other arm.

The noise that the Walker let out in response to the gun, though, immediately let Carol know that a Walker hadn't grabbed her and it sent a chill through her body.

"Fuckin' bitch!" Ed spat.

Before Carol could react, Ed had the gun and he wrenched it out of her hand. He tried to fire it at a nearby Walker and, finding it was empty, he threw it into the darkness somewhere. Carol tried to fight against him, but his strength was too much for her—it had always been too much. She couldn't physically fight back. Even if she got in a good hit or two, he always seemed to bounce back and overpower her before she could get the upper hand.

Carol screamed as Ed dragged her away from the house and toward the burning barn. He made his way around the Walkers even though Carol's voice drew the creatures toward them. She finally stopped screaming, though, when she realized that nobody was going to hear her and the only thing that the noise would accomplish was drawing more of the Walkers to them.

Carol dragged her feet, trying to sit more than once to make it difficult on Ed to move her, but he continued on and simply pulled her along. He must have been running on something like adrenaline because he didn't seem to notice that his nose was pouring blood where Carol had made contact with the gun.

They were on the other side of the barn, nearing a vehicle that Carol assumed was one that Ed thought might get them off the farm, when Ed finally loosened his grip on Carol's arms long enough to wrap his hand around her throat. Choking off her air, he trusted that his hold there would control her enough that he no longer had to put the effort into holding both her arms.

Carol thought about fighting against him, but that would only cost her air.

"Fuckin' bitch," Ed spat. "The hell were you thinking? You fucking bitch—but your redneck boyfriend didn't stick around when shit hit the fan, did he? Did he?"

Carol tried to swallow against the tight hold that Ed had around her throat. It was better not to fight. Fighting would simply make it worse.

"We're getting off this farm," Ed said. "And the hell away from all these assholes. You let them put thoughts in your head, didn't you? Let them start making you think you were better than me. You're no better than me. You're lucky I've put up with your ass this long. You're lucky I stayed—didn't leave you here to die. Where the hell is Sophia?"

Carol choked against Ed's hold and he loosened his grip. He still kept his fingers around her throat to remind her that he could choke her out, but he let her have air so that she could answer him.

"Gone, Ed," Carol said. "Sophia's gone."

The fire from the barn provided Carol more than enough light to see Ed's expression. The expression made her chest ache. He thought she meant Sophia was dead, and Carol didn't correct him. Not right away. His expression at the thought sickened Carol. He actually looked pleased at the prospect that their daughter might've been torn apart by one of the Walkers.

"Get in the damn truck," Ed said. "We're better off without her any way. She weren't never worth much."

Carol pulled away in the direction of the truck and Ed let go of her throat, satisfied to see that she was going to do what he wanted. She was back under his control when she had no other prospects for safety or survival. It was exactly what Ed wanted. Carol stumbled toward the truck, still struggling to fully get her air back, and she slipped her hand as carefully as she could into the pocket of her pants.

When Ed spit something at her about hurrying up, she called his name. He came, from the front of the truck he hoped to steal, to probably force her into the cab with another few cuss words and, perhaps, a slap across the cheek to remind her that he didn't appreciate her stalling.

He never said anything to her, though. Carol pulled the gun out of her pocket and cocked it as she moved it upward. She might've thought that she could never shoot a human being, but at that moment she was almost certain that Ed Peletier hadn't been a human being for a very long time.

Carol fired the first bullet into his chest. It didn't go deep enough to kill him, but it did stop him and even made him back up a step as he seemed to struggle to realize what had happened.

"You fuckin' shot me!" He spat, staggering toward the truck with a hand out. "You could've killed me."

Carol wondered if the smaller bullets didn't do much damage or if Ed was simply not registering yet that he'd been shot in the chest and probably would die, even if it wasn't immediate.

"I'm going to kill you," Carol said, her voice shaking more than she wanted.

"Everything I've done for you, you crazy bitch," Ed spat with some amusement.

Carol nodded her head at him, still holding the gun.

"Everything you've done to me, Ed," Carol said. "You killed me a long time ago. The person I used to be. You killed her. You killed yourself. The man that I loved. But—not anymore. You don't touch me again, Ed. You don't touch me and you don't touch Sophia."

Ed might have been prepared to respond. Maybe he was just going to comment that he was realizing that the bullet might kill him. But Carol didn't allow him the chance to say anything. She fired a second bullet into his brain and barely allowed his body time to drop to the ground before she took off running around the truck and tried desperately to crank it. Even though the key was in it, though, the truck was dead and had probably been dead for years. Carol left the vehicle and ran toward the road. There was a large bunch of Walkers between her and the house, so she'd never make it back to Otis's truck, but there was still a chance that she could make it to the road.

People were leaving. They'd left, actually. And they'd left Carol behind. They had no reason to know she was there and they had no reason to suspect that she was simply running around the Walker-infested farm instead of being eaten already by one of the Dead.

The only hope she had, at this point, was to run for the road and hope to catch up with someone or get their attention.

The only hope she had was to run for her life.

Carol fired the small gun at Walkers that got too close to her, but she finally dropped the weapon when the bullets ran out. She was running as fast as she could, but her legs were burning and her lungs were burning and everywhere she turned there were more Walkers that seemed more interested in her than they had been before. With everyone else gone, the Walkers had nothing to distract them. Carol was the only thing that they could smell, it seemed, and they all wanted her.

She was sure that they were bound to catch her.

And if they didn't catch her, Carol was pretty sure that she was simply going to pass out and collapse. They'd eat her when she was down. It was a pathetic way to die, but Carol was almost positive it was the fate that awaited her.

Until she heard the sound of the engine.

It wasn't the sound of a truck. It wasn't one of the SUVs that they'd taken. It was the sound of a motorcycle and Carol only knew one motorcycle that had been around the farm.

Carol almost cried when she heard the welcomed sound. She didn't dare to, though, for the fact that crying might lessen the amount of air she could draw in and get her that much closer to collapsing from exhaustion. As she reached the road, she saw the bike rolling up with its one light guiding it in the darkness.

"Come on! Hurry up! Get on!" Daryl yelled. "They right behind you!"

Carol didn't need him to tell her that they were right behind her, but she understood why he did it. He didn't want her to look back. Looking back to see where they were would only slow her down. She didn't have even a second to waste with something like that.

When Carol reached the bike, her legs were shaking. Daryl stood up, holding the bike in place, and she threw her leg over while he urged her to hurry but said little else. As soon as she was on, Carol barked at him to go and she wrapped her arms around him as he pulled off and started down the road.

Carol could barely breathe. Her mind was racing. The blood pumping through her veins sounded like loud waves crashing inside her head. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against Daryl's back as she clung to him.

It was out of her hands now. She was nothing but a passenger on Daryl's bike. It was her job to move with him when he moved, and she knew that, to keep the bike balanced, but otherwise there was nothing she could do to help him. It would be Daryl that got them away from the farm and out of the herd of Walkers that seemed to go on forever.

When Carol finally felt strong enough to lift her head and look at where they were going, she could see that Walkers still stumbled here and there across the road. They were coming out of the woods on both sides of the road and they seemed to never stop. Daryl kept a decent speed, but he didn't dare to go too fast. If he went too fast, he ran the risk of hitting one of the Walkers and throwing them both to the ground.

If he went too slowly, one of the Walkers had a good chance of grabbing them.

Carol knew that if she was driving, she would've crashed the bike. But Daryl handled it like a pro. He'd clearly spent a good deal of his life handling that very bike or one like it. Rather than watch everything unfold around her, Carol closed her eyes again, leaned her head against Daryl's back, and held tight to him.

She'd done all she could do. She trusted Daryl, entirely, to get them off the farm and clear of the herd.


	38. Chapter 38

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

It was all lost. Everything was lost. What the Walkers didn't destroy, the fire would.

If he'd known they all made it out alive, at least he could say that they had the most important things—the people that they cared about in this world that consumed everything that mattered—but he wasn't really sure who had made it and who hadn't.

Daryl kept getting pushed further and further away from the farmhouse once the herd really started to settle in on the farm. By the time he made it to the road, people were fleeing. There was only so much fighting that could be done before it was just useless. Daryl saw vehicles driving away, but he couldn't recall who was driving what, and he wasn't even sure he'd known to begin with.

The only truck that Daryl could wave down from the main exodus from the farm was the one carrying T-Dog, Beth, and Sophia. And he only caught that one because T-Dog wasn't speeding quite as quickly through the herd as the others were. Maybe he was scared of crashing with the people he had in tow. Daryl waved him down in hope of finding out what was happening—who was left—and his heart had hopped around erratically in his chest when he'd seen Sophia sitting in the truck.

T-Dog had told him then the one thing that Daryl had feared hearing—Carol wasn't with him. She wasn't with anyone. She was back at the farmhouse.

They would meet at the highway. They'd meet at the car that marked the spot where they'd lost Sophia. Daryl would find them there, but he couldn't go with Carol still on the farm. Daryl tried to circle back to the house, but the Walkers were too thick for him to get through. Between the sounds of the barn falling and the brightness of the fire that was spreading quickly to swallow up the house that Hershel Greene had called home, the Walkers were moving as quickly as they could in that direction. Daryl could stay back from them without being noticed too much, but he couldn't wade through them. It was certain death to try.

The last truck that Daryl saw leaving the farm, sometime later, had carried Lori, Rick, Carl, and Hershel. Like the others, they were headed for the highway. They'd be waiting at the marked car.

They'd expected Daryl to follow them, but he couldn't.

He felt desperate. He felt like he was drowning. If he were closer to the fire, he'd blame his suffocation on the thick smoke, but at the distance he was keeping he knew that it wasn't smoke choking him out. It wasn't smoke, either, burning his eyes to the point of dampness—even if he might like to believe that it was.

It was all lost. She was lost.

Daryl sat on his bike watching the fire spread and consume the farm. In the darkness, it was almost like a horror movie. It was the death of whatever hope they'd started to scrape together. It was all being consumed by the flames and burned down to nothing. Even the Walkers, too dumb to know that fire would eventually consume them too, were walking into the fire to come out flaming balls of destruction and decay.

And among all of it, she was lost.

Daryl had never loved a woman before except for his mother. He still remembered, too, the day that their house burned to the ground. He still remembered the lingering smell of smoke that seemed to hang in the air for days. He remembered the cold shock to the system that he'd felt when he realized just how quickly he could lose everything that really mattered to him at all.

His mother had just been gone.

And now, watching the farm burn, Daryl realized that in some cruel way, his life was just repeating itself.

Carol was just gone.

When Walkers bothered stumbling near him, Daryl leaned up from his seat on the bike enough to drive his knife through their skulls and he pushed them backward away from him to lie in a pile until the fire spread enough to swallow them up and reduce them to dust and bone.

Sophia was with T-Dog. She'd need somebody.

Eventually, Daryl knew, he'd have to leave his mourning and head to the highway. He'd been alone as a kid and he knew it was a damn rough place to be. It would be even harder now. He couldn't give Carol anything now. She was lost to him. The only thing he could do, even if Carol would never know he did it, was take care of the kid that she left behind—a kid that she loved more than herself.

Sophia was the last part of her that remained.

But he wasn't quite done mourning yet, and they would wait for him for a while.

Daryl heard the sounds of things exploding, everything being swallowed up one bit at a time by the fire, and then he heard other sounds that he was sure weren't even real. When he heard the screaming, he almost chocked it up to simply being something that he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear her voice so badly that his brain, so overcome by the feeling of knowing that she was gone when she'd just become so close, was producing something to try to give itself hope. If the screams hadn't drawn closer, Daryl might have never believed in them.

But then he saw her. A dark silhouette against the flaming backdrop. She was running straight for the road a short distance away from him. The Walkers that had been interested only in the fire and the noises that it was producing as it hit one explosive item or another had turned to come after her. It seemed that even over the smoke they could smell her and they wanted to feed. She'd had a gun, but that must have been gone. Some of the popping that Daryl attributed to the fire must have been the last of her bullets.

Daryl watched her running for just a second, trying to decide if she was real or if the whole thing was a desperate and elaborate hallucination.

When he was sure it was her, he cranked the bike and rode in her direction, stopping on the road directly in her path.

He didn't fully believe it was really her even as he was yelling at her to get on and making space for her to be able to do so before one of the gruesome creatures could get their hands on her. He didn't even believe it was her when she wrapped her arms around him and he felt the pressure of her face against his back.

Daryl didn't have time to say anything to her. He didn't have time to tell her how he felt or how worried he'd been and he doubted that he'd have the words to do so even if time had been abundant. The only thing he could do was get them both out of there. Sitting on his bike, watching the fire burn, Daryl had started to lose a little hope for the future. Feeling her pressed against him, though, with her arms encircling him, Daryl felt his chest swell with a determination that had started to slip away from him. Weaving through the Walkers, all of a sudden, seemed like an easy task. A fun game that he was a shoe in to win.

And he did win it.

Daryl stopped the bike when they were clear of the majority of the herd. He dared to leave the headlight on, hoping that it wouldn't attract any Walkers in the short time they were stopped. He couldn't see her too well in the dim light that it provided to the area, but he could at least see her better than he would be able to without any light at all. To avoid the majority of the Walkers, he'd had to go some distance out of his way, but now they'd be able to start making their way to the highway. He needed just a moment, though, to make sure that she was really there. He needed a moment to make sure that she was OK and she wasn't bit.

He needed to assure himself that all wasn't lost, after all.

When Daryl stood up, Carol seemed to take his lead without him having to say anything and she got off the bike in a hurry. She looked around, clearly checking for Walkers. Daryl couldn't help himself, so he reached out and pulled her to him in a hug. She sunk into him for a moment, squeezing him back, but then she pulled away.

"Where are we?" Carol asked.

"Couple miles away from where the hell we need to be," Daryl said. "But I had to get away from the Walkers. We'll go from here to the highway and follow it back to where everybody's waitin'."

"Sophia," Carol started.

"With T," Daryl said. "Seen 'em leave the farm."

"They got away?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded.

"I seen 'em," Daryl said. "They got clear of the herd. They'll be there waitin' on us."

"We should go," Carol said.

"I thought you got left behind," Daryl said.

"I stayed behind to try to help Lori find Carl," Carol said. "I don't know if she found Carl. I never found her."

"She got out," Daryl said. "Carl too."

"Good," Carol said, breathing out a deep breath. "What about the others?"

"Just seen the two vehicles up close," Daryl said. "The rest was leavin' while I was still in the thick of it. I like to think they're all there at the highway, but I don't know. Didn't see nobody else for sure."

Carol nodded her head.

"Ed..." she started, but then she stopped. Daryl gave her a second to continue, but she didn't.

"Didn't see him," Daryl said. "Not at all."

Carol shook her head.

"He didn't get off the farm," Carol said.

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head. He figured that maybe she'd seen him. Maybe she'd even seen him, as one of those creatures, wandering around. He couldn't be any scarier to her, Daryl was sure, as a Walker than he was as himself.

"It's OK," Daryl said. "Gonna be OK." He wasn't sure if she might be upset about the man's death. Even though he was a bastard, he was her husband and the fact of the matter remained that she must have at least been attached to him once upon a time. Daryl wasn't going to judge her if his death was a shock to her.

Carol shook her head.

"You don't understand," Carol said. "He didn't get off the farm because...because I..."

Carol stopped and Daryl instinctively reached forward and pulled her back into a hug. She clung to him and he gave her the time that she needed. He could hear some rustling in the woods around the road, and he was sure they couldn't stay there long, but he figured they had a few moments.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked when she finally pulled away. "What the hell happened out there?"

"I killed him," Carol said finally, her words coming out with a gasp. "He grabbed me and—he wanted me to leave with him. And I killed him. I shot him. Twice. Once in the head."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"So—he's gone," Daryl said. "So—that's good, right? Means he ain't gonna fuck with you no more. Ain't gonna fuck with Sophia."

"It means I'm a murderer," Carol said. "I murdered my husband. My daughter's father. I killed him, Daryl. With him looking at me. I killed him."

Daryl nodded his head.

"I reckon you did," Daryl said.

Carol's voice changed when she spoke again.

"Does that make you afraid of me?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You scare the shit outta me to be honest," Daryl said. "But it ain't because of that. Hell—if I'da run into Ed out there I'da put a bullet in him for you an' just called it casualty of war. He deserved what he got. He deserved worse, probably. Don't make you a murderer. I'd call it self-defense. At the very least? Was just doin' what needed to be done."

Carol stared at him.

"You said I scared you," Carol said. "Why?"

Daryl laughed to himself. He shook his head.

"Stupid," he said.

"I still want to hear it," Carol said.

"There's Walkers rustlin' about in these woods," Daryl said. "We stay too long they'll be on top of us again."

"Then you should talk quickly," Carol said, a hint of a smile playing at her features.

Daryl swallowed and licked his lips.

"Never met nobody like you," Daryl said. "Never met nobody could—make me feel like you make me feel."

"How do I make you feel?" Carol asked.

"Like I can't breathe," Daryl said. "But in a good way. Like—my heart just won't beat like it's supposed to. Like I'm comin' undone and I can't even hold it all together." Daryl dropped his eyes from her intense stare. When he brought them back up, she was still looking at him. "Now you think I'm an idiot," Daryl said.

Carol shook her head. She reached out and took his hand. She pressed it against her chest. He could feel the soft fabric of her shirt and the soft skin below it that was slightly sticky with dried sweat.

"Can you feel that?" Carol asked. "My pulse is...it's not exactly stable."

"Runnin'," Daryl said.

"I'm not that out of shape," Carol said. "It already calmed down from that. But—it's having a harder time calming down from just a hug."

Daryl swallowed and took a chance. He leaned in and Carol met him for the kiss that he sought. For just a moment he forgot about the fire. He forgot about the farm that had been lost. He forgot about watching tail lights as everyone he knew fled for safety. He forgot about the fear that he'd felt and the sadness that had overwhelmed him when he thought that Carol was dead. He forgot about all of it.

All he could think about was the feeling of kissing her. She was very real. And she was even more his, now, than she ever had been before. Even as they kissed, perhaps, the fire was swallowing Ed Peletier up and erasing him completely from a world where he'd probably never done any good for anyone.

When they pulled apart, Carol was smiling at him. Daryl didn't even need the dim light that the headlights provided to tell him that.

"Now it's beating even more erratically," Carol said.

"Don't think mine's ever gonna be the same," Daryl said. "Think you changed the rhythm of it completely." He sucked in a breath. "And as much as I just wanna stay here all night long—there really are Walkers in the woods."

"Sophia's going to be worried," Carol said, nodding her head.

"Don't want her to worry," Daryl responded. He leaned forward and pecked Carol's lips once more before he got back on the bike. He stayed standing, waiting for her to get comfortable. This time, when she wrapped herself around him, Daryl felt an unexpected and warm peace wash over him.

His heart was still pounding in his chest, but it felt wonderful. As he navigated his way to the highway and started in the direction of the traffic snare where he knew they'd find everyone that was left, Daryl's mind buzzed with a happiness that was, perhaps, out of place for such a night.


	39. Chapter 39

**AN: Here we go, the last chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl and Carol were the last to arrive at the traffic snare where the group waited. As soon as they pulled up, Sophia came running toward them. Carol was barely off the bike before the little girl launched herself at her mother. Carol held her daughter tight and rocked with her there in the middle of the road.

Daryl quickly scanned his eyes over the others. He was relieved to see Andrea standing with Dale's arm around her. He didn't want to admit that he'd worried that the two of them might not have made it since the last time he'd seen them, Andrea had been hanging out the passenger side window of a vehicle while Dale drove it a little erratically around the farm.

It looked like everyone was there at first glance. Dirty and tired and gathered around each other in the first gray light of the coming dawn, they were there. They made it out.

"Everybody got out?" Daryl asked into the crowd.

"Patricia," Beth said from where she was clinging to her father.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Shane," Rick said.

"Ed didn't make it neither," Daryl said. He glanced behind him a few feet where Carol was talking quietly to Sophia and stroking her hair. More than likely she was telling the girl, herself, that her father was no longer a part of this world. Daryl didn't know how the girl would take it, but he had a strange suspicion that it wasn't going to set her back too far.

"Walkers got Patricia," Hershel said.

"I killed Shane," Carl said suddenly.

From everyone's reactions, though, Daryl could tell that he and Carol were coming late to things. They'd missed a conversation and, apparently, it had been a quite serious one. Now he wondered if the concern on everyone's features was more about whatever had been said than it was about the fire and the Walkers.

"I killed Shane," Rick said. "Carl put him down when he—when he came back."

"What happened to Ed?" Lori asked.

"He died," Daryl said. "That's about all that matters now. He died and he's gonna stay that way." Daryl sucked in a breath and sighed. "It ain't safe for us to stay too long on the highway. Not sittin' still. The fire's gonna burn for a while. It'll draw damn near every Walker in the area for a while, but when it's out they gonna start lookin' for people again. Farm's lost completely. We can't go back there."

Rick stepped toward the middle of the group and, consequently, closer to Daryl. Daryl smiled to himself, but quickly swallowed the expression. Rick's stance—everything about him—was a classic cop move in Daryl's opinion. He'd dealt with his fair share of cops, after all.

Daryl didn't know what happened with Shane and, really, he didn't care. He could guess that things hadn't gone too well because Lori was keeping an unusual amount of distance from Rick with her son close to her—something that wasn't entirely common of the woman who could, from time to time, seem to forget that her only child even existed—but she wasn't openly discussing her feelings on the matter and Daryl wasn't going to ask about them. Whatever had happened, that was Rick and Shane. That was their story and it was their problem. Daryl had a pretty good feeling about what happened and he didn't care about that either. If Rick had done away with Shane simply because he was sick of dealing with his ass, that was just what happened. Daryl didn't care to dig into it.

What he did care about, though, was the fact that he'd gotten to know Rick well enough that he knew that Rick was their so-called leader, but he was only in this for himself. He'd proven that to Daryl time and time again. Rick was interested in keeping them all alive, but it was only so they'd be there if he should need them.

Rick was in this for Rick. Anybody else could come along for the ride, but they'd probably better recognize that they were likely to end up like Merle had—handcuffed to a roof for their bad behavior—or like Sophia had—left behind and forgotten when something more important to Rick came up.

It was just a matter of time.

They might, if they crossed him, even end up like Shane.

The stance that Rick took quickly reminded Daryl of what kind of man Rick Grimes was. He was a good man by all the rules of the old world. He'd probably sat in a church pew every Sunday and enjoyed Sunday dinner with his family and friends. He'd probably volunteered and he'd worked a job where he'd served the public—especially the good, law-abiding, desirable public.

But he was also a man who liked power and he hadn't accidentally fallen into a job that gave him control over other people. Taking over as leader of their group hadn't been an accident either. It hadn't been something he'd just fallen into because he was naturally suited to the role. He'd taken over as leader because being in charge was all that he really knew how to do.

And right now, the power-stance that he was taking was a physical reminder that he wanted to be in charge and, maybe, that he felt even a little threatened by Daryl so much as offering the suggestion that the farm, which was going up in flames even as they spoke, wasn't a place to which they could ever return.

Daryl didn't feel as threatened as he was supposed to feel, and something settled in his stomach that he hadn't really felt before. Rick couldn't threaten him, and he couldn't drag him into anything that Daryl didn't feel was safe or good for all of them.

Daryl, for once in his life, had something he needed to protect. And he was every bit as serious about it as Rick was.

"We're going to go back the way we came," Rick said. "Circle back to some of those clearer exits. Look for some towns to scavenge. Look for a place to stay."

Daryl shook his head.

"Don't make sense goin' backward," Daryl offered. "We know there ain't too damn much where we come from. Goin' back gets us closer to Atlanta again. Closer to Atlanta means more Walkers. Maybe even more people we don't wanna deal with. Better to move forward. That way. The farm was a good damn idea. They the most self-sufficient places around here. Got wells. You can grow food. Best chance you got of startin' again."

"We've got to look for somewhere safe," Rick said. "Something with fences."

"Agreed," Daryl said. "Lots of the farms got fences."

Rick laughed to himself.

"Fences that can't hold against Walkers. You saw what happened out there. They plowed through everything," Rick said. "You can't stop them. Not when they're in a bunch like that."

"You said it," Daryl said. "You can't stop 'em. Not when they in a herd that big. Maybe nothing we can build would keep 'em out. But I'd rather move forward than backward. I already know what's behind me."

"And we already know that something like a farm is temporary," Rick said.

"Maybe it is," Daryl said. "Maybe it ain't. Maybe we just got too comfortable too quick."

"We could build up the fences," Dale offered from where he was quietly standing with Andrea and T-Dog by one of the farm trucks that they'd used in fighting the herd that had taken over. "We could reinforce them."

"Build walls," T-Dog said. "Concrete walls. It might not stop a herd that size, but...it'd slow them down."

"Maybe there ain't nothin' could stop a herd that size," Daryl said. "But that's the name of the game these days, ain't it? We don't know what's around the next corner. If we go back, though, we know exactly what's back there. A whole lot of nothin' we want."

Rick laughed to himself.

"And if it fails? You all blame me!" Rick said, louder than Daryl wished he would speak with so many Walkers nearby. "Just like you blame me whenever anything fails. Just like you blamed me whenever somebody gets lost or dies. I didn't ask to be leader of this group, but if I'm going to lead? You've got to let me lead. If I'm going to be held responsible for everything that happens in this group? If everything is going to be—Rick made a bad call? Then I'm the one making the calls I get blamed for. I'm the one saying where we go and what we do. Me. I'm not taking input from everyone to keep being blamed whenever that doesn't go right. And don't say you haven't blamed me. You've all blamed me for one thing or another since I got here. That's over. Moving forward? I'm the leader. This isn't a democracy."

Daryl swallowed. There it was. There was the exact moment when Rick assumed complete power over all of them. He'd wanted it all along. He could pretend that he didn't, and maybe every tyrant that ever existed had pretended that their absolute power was a burden to them that they didn't care for, but he did want it.

Daryl shook his head.

"You right about one thing—if you gonna be the leader, you gotta be in charge," Daryl said. "What you wrong about is that we don't have no choice." Daryl felt something touch his shoulder and he jerked quickly. Immediately relief washed over him when he realized it was just Carol standing behind him, her arm around Sophia, with her hand on his shoulder. He let out the breath he'd sucked in at the shock of being touched. The sun was starting to come up. The gray of the coming morning was beginning to bleed into some colors. "We got a choice," Daryl said. "We do—and I'ma make that choice for me and for—hopefully for..."

Daryl stopped. He looked at Carol. He wasn't sure he had a right to make choices for her. He wasn't sure it was fair to her to make choices for her. She'd had all her choices made for her for the longest time. He stopped and simply looked at her. She offered him a soft smile.

"And your family," Carol offered quietly enough that Daryl was probably the only one that heard her. Daryl smiled to himself and nodded his head.

"I'ma make that choice for me an' my family," Daryl said. "Anyone wants to come with us is welcome to come, but I ain't your leader. You comin' with me? It damn sure is a democracy. I ain't your king. We do what the hell we do together."

"If they come with you," Rick said, "they'll just blame you for everything that goes wrong, Daryl. Everything that you can't control, they'll expect you to control it."

"Shit—I ain't in control of nothin'," Daryl said. "But it wouldn't be the first time I been blamed for shit that weren't up to me. Go with Rick or come with me," Daryl said, turning his attention to everyone around them. "But either way, we're goin'. T—you think you could help me get my bike on one that truck?"

"You're taking the truck?" Rick asked.

"I was the one that got it runnin' in the first place," Daryl said.

T-Dog nodded at Daryl and Daryl went for the bike. He rode it over to the truck, carefully navigating around the people, and was happy to find that the makeshift ramp he'd made was still in the back. With T-Dog's help, he loaded the bike in the back of the truck. He didn't have to ask Carol and Sophia if they were coming, because by the time he'd closed the tailgate, the two of them were already in the cab. Daryl couldn't help but smile to himself. He didn't know where they were going. He didn't know if there was even a safe place to be found in the world. It didn't feel like it really mattered, though, as long as they were going together.

Daryl got in without saying anything else to the group of people that they'd been with. He wasn't one for long and dramatic goodbyes. He wasn't going to push anyone, either, to do anything. They made their own decisions. That's all there was to it.

Daryl cranked the truck and put it into drive.

"Half a tank of gas," Daryl said. "We'll be siphoning before long. You sure you wanna do this?"

He looked at Carol and she nodded at him.

"I'm sure I am doing this," Carol said. "We are."

"I don't know where we're going," Daryl said. "Can't promise we find nothin'."

"We'll find something," Carol assured him.

Daryl nodded and smiled to himself.

"Yeah," he said, "we'll find somethin'."

Daryl drove the truck down the median to avoid the other vehicles and people. He rolled along slowly so that he could steer around any obstructions. He watched the road ahead of him, once he was back on the highway, his heart pounding in his chest. He hoped they could find something. He hoped they could make it work. There weren't any promises these days, but maybe Daryl knew better than Rick that there never had been any before.

The sun was coming up quickly now and it was bleeding light across the land. Colors were coming out. Soon the night would seem like a distant memory.

The highway, beyond the snare, was clear. Daryl knew it was at least to a point because they'd already brought the bike through there. They'd keep going as long as they could. That was the only plan they had. They'd just keep going.

Daryl glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled to himself. The truck that was tailing him was close enough that if he'd hit his brakes, they would've collided. Another glance to make out who it was made Daryl laugh. They cab of the truck was about as packed as ever a cab had been. With Dale and T-Dog in there, Daryl wasn't sure if Andrea wasn't actually riding half in each of their laps.

"Looks like we ain't alone," Daryl said.

Carol hummed at him and he gestured backward.

"We ain't alone," Daryl repeated. Carol turned around in the seat and she smiled. "You OK with that? Them comin' along?"

Carol laughed.

"Of course I am," Carol said. "Strength in numbers, right? Besides—they're family."

Daryl nodded and dropped an arm around Carol's shoulder. He cast a quick glance toward Sophia to see if she would say anything about the gesture, but she looked as pleased as she could be, riding along and looking out the window like they were on some kind of vacation.

Some kind of family vacation.

The world was cruel. It always had been. It was determined to take everything away from everyone. Still, Daryl had found something that he hadn't even realized he'd been looking for. He'd found something that meant more to him than anything else. He'd found a reason to go on and to do it to the absolute best of his ability.

Daryl glanced in the rearview once more and then he pulled Carol against him. She came readily and snuggled in beside him in the seat, leaning her head against him.

Daryl Dixon had lost as much as anybody else, but he'd also found something precious among the ruins of the world.

Daryl had found his family.

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

 **AN: Thank you all for reading and for reviewing and supporting me through this journey! I hope you enjoyed and I hope to see you somewhere down the line on another story!**


End file.
